


The Reluctant Spy

by TheExplicitEnchantress



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fuck the stupid lemon drops, Romance, Sexual Assault, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters, Who isn't evil anyway?, death eaters are people too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-07-10 05:50:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 62,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15943073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheExplicitEnchantress/pseuds/TheExplicitEnchantress
Summary: A hurt and enraged Hermione responds to a traumatic event with a deep depression halted only by a sprig of purpose being brought into her life: that she could spy on the Dark Lord.





	1. The Incident

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter has graphic depictions of rape. It is also quite slow to start, as it is a scene setting chapter. I shall also be posting the second chapter/second half of this chapter for those that would like to skip the first half. The second chapter will of course begin with a summary of the first.  
> If you aren't a grown up/are triggered by sexual assault or depression/ are a troll, just don't bother reading. Thanks! 
> 
> Everything you recognise belongs to JK. This is set in 7th year, but Dumbledore lives.

The cold crisp morning air filled Hermione’s lungs and fluttered her hair gently around her face as a warm hand shook her shoulder to wake her. Immediately, the girl’s eyes opened, deep purple circles beneath the only expression of her exhaustive state. Not that Harry looked any better. As she rose to stand beside him, she looked him up and down, eyes taking in the gaunt, haunted appearance of the boy who looked fit to drop at any second.

 

Without words, she stretched out her hand for the locket. No words were needed anymore. No smiles or laughter as they took turns resting and researching to try and find an end to their predicament. Time that they spent awake together was used for eating, travelling and quiet contemplation. They had no need for words anymore. The matching expressions in their eyes said enough.

 

She walked out a few feet, and checked each focal point of the wards they had cast around them. They had agreed that they wouldn’t remove and recast them unless absolutely necessary. It wasn’t worth even the few seconds risk to their safety. So instead, they checked each one at the start of their shift. When she finished, she moved to the large fallen log in front of their tent and lifted a worn silver kettle from the ground beside the fire pit they had built on their first night.

 

_ Aguamenti  _ she thought, watching at the kettle filled at her silent command. Then, turning to the pit she pointed her wand and set a small fire burning. She set the kettle above it, and dropped a tea bag into one of the two mugs that sat beside the makeshift seat. Sighing, she pulled an already battered copy of ‘The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore’ from her small bag, alongside ‘Tales of Beedle the Bard’ and ‘Hogwarts, a History’. For the next four hours she read, the only sound the whistling of the kettle before she removed it from the heat, and the rustling as she turned pages. Her internal timer sounded and she pulled the locket from her neck, immediately feeling two stone lighter, a huge weight lifted from her soul. As she rested once more into the thin blankets of her bed, she allowed one single lone tear to drop onto her pillow.

 

***

 

Two days later, over a meal of roasted squirrel and dried nuts, Harry croaked out a single sentence, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

 

“I think we should go to Godric’s Hollow.”

 

Hermione sighed, placing her skewer of unusual meat onto her plate, and wiped her hands on the cloth napkins she’d hoped would provide a sense of civilisation.

 

“Lately I’ve been thinking the same thing. I can’t shake the feeling that Dumbledore would hide something there for you to find. It’s and important place for you, and it was for him as well.”

 

“What do you think is there?”

 

She met his eyes as she whispered, “The sword.”

 

They packed up their tent and belongings efficiently, throwing anything of Ron’s into the bag with a burst of anger. After one particularly brutal hiss from Hermione as she smashed as small snow globe onto the ground, Harry reached over her shoulder and removed the horcrux, giving her a small twitch of his lips as he placed it around himself instead. The rest of the packing was completed without incident, and a murmured Reparo from Harry, who never had completely grasped wordless magic. He placed the globe carefully into the bag and grasped Hermione’s hand. One ‘pop!’ and they vanished into the night, knowing that now they were truly leaving Ron behind. 

 

***

 

_ It’s snowing. _ The realisation came to both of them as they popped into existence in the middle of the magical village, hearing the jingling of bells, and the singing of carols. The cold air whipped over their worn bodies, sending shivers through them that wasn’t entirely due to the snow. For one beautifully pure moment, they simply allowed the innocent joy of the holiday to pass through them along with the memories of a happier time. 

 

Hermione cleared her throat quietly, and Harry’s eyes immediately hardened. His glare focused on something behind her, and Hermione slowly turned to face a graveyard, a beautiful monstrosity of huge erected statues, large snow covered trees, and too many graves to comfortably house.

 

“Do you think they’re in there?” she asked. “Your parents?”

 

“It doesn’t matter.” He snapped at her, pulling away from the comforting hand that had reached for his own. “They’re dead. Visiting their rotting corpses isn’t going to change that.”

 

She nodded, slightly afraid of the look in his eyes. It sent icy cold shivers down her spine, and a spark of familiarity that she couldn’t explain. Before she could argue her point, a shadow moved to their side, and she whipped round into a defensive stance, Harry following her lead. The figure came forward, moving slightly into the light, and Hermione lowered her wand gently.

 

“I think she’s Bathilda Bagshot,” she whispered. “It could be a trap.”

 

“Who cares?” Harry replied harshly, striding forward to stop a couple of feet away from the old woman bundled up in worn black ropes. She smiled slightly and beckoned him to follow. “See. She’s going to lead us.”

 

“Yes Harry, but where?”

 

“It doesn’t matter. She’ll lead us onward.”

 

His face and voice were hard, but the words he spoke were better suited to a certain elderly wizard whose eyes twinkled with knowledge and kindness. It was this similarity only that pushed her to follow close behind, eyes flitting from right to left out of paranoia before they came to stop outside one of the old houses, the only one of the stone buildings in the street that had no wreath on the door or snowman outside. 

 

When they entered, Hermione found herself more intrigued and less afraid. It was through this that she found herself slipping a couple of books and photographs into her bag as the eerie older witch led her only companion up the stairs. Within moments, there was a loud shout, and the young brunette responded in the only way she knew how. She threw herself into the room, throwing  a flurry of hexes towards the large green familiar. 

 

“Bombarda!” She screamed, pulling Harry close and removing them from Godric’s Hollow in the same manner in which they had came. 

 

They appeared in another stretch of woodland, the boy who lived collapsing almost immediately onto the ground before them. Hermione, ever his ally, reached out to check him for damage. He slapped her hand away, and curled himself into a ball, head resting on the bed of orange and brown leaves.

 

“You take first watch.”

 

He shoved the locket towards her, and she took it from him without question, their fingers refusing to touch. She erected the usual wards around their area before pulling the tent from her small bag and pulling it into shape. She built a fire, fashioned a couple of large wood stumps nearby into rough wooden seats. The effect was rustic and shabby, as if a woodsman had used a chisel to mould them by hand. She didn’t care. They would suit the purpose of the two teenagers occupying the area until they once again needed to run. These days, they didn’t return to the same place twice. Any risk that they might have been followed, or their magical signatures recognised in the area prevented that. They were truly hidden from all others. Truly alone.

 

Only then, with all of the immediate concerns out of the way and maudlin thoughts to occupy her, Hermione turned her attention to a snapped piece of wood lying beside the oblivious boy. With a low sigh, she summoned it to her, eyes tearing up at the severed wand. 

_ Reparo. _

 

Nothing.

 

She hadn’t expected it to work, but she had hoped, briefly, that as the two sides had hung together by a thread, that the magic would still be channeled through it. As soon as she attempted to move a leaf towards her however, the wand reverted to its previous state. And with the snapping of the wood, Hermione’s heart broke for the little boy she remembered, holding his wand reverently as he cast a charm for the first time. 

 

As he used it to cast his patronus.

 

As he used it to summon his broom over an exceptionally large distance.

 

As he taught them to protect themselves.

 

As he glared at it with repulsion after cursing Draco Malfoy.

 

“Fuck.” She hissed, shoving the broken instrument roughly into the pocket of her jeans. Immediately, she pulled a book from her bag and settled back against the worn wood of her unconventional seat. She would let Harry sleep until he woke naturally; he deserved that much at least.

 

***

 

When Harry finally awoke it was almost midday. The sun was at a high point above them, a yawning Hermione still seated in her wooden throne with a mug of steaming tea in one gloved hand and a book in the other. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him yet. The guilt was too fresh in her mind.

 

“Why didn’t my alarm go off?” He snapped. “Did you dismantle my charm to fucking prove you could?”

 

His brunette companion sighed sadly, and placed her book down beside her, staring for a moment into the still crackling flames of the fire. 

 

“No, Harry. I didn’t.”

 

Immediately Potter glared, the hairs rising on his arms at her soft tone. “Where is my wand?”

 

She turned to face him properly. “Harry….”

 

“Where is my wand, Hermione?”

She slowly reached her hand onto the seat, pulling the broken wood from its spot beside her thigh. “I am so sorry, Harry. When I cursed the snake it rebounded. And your wand…”

 

“Well fix it!”

 

“I tried Harry. I really have. But- but wands don’t work the same way. They can’t be fixed like ordinary objects. I don’t think there is anything we can do…”

 

“No!” He snapped. “This is something for  _ you _ to do. Brightest witch of her age? Then you’ll work out how to fucking fix it. Give me your wand.”

 

“Harry?”

 

“I’ll need it to take watch. And give me the locket, too.”

 

She did so warily, remaining an arms length away from him as he took possession of the two most precious things that they carried with them. With more trepidation then fatigue, she edged her way into the tent to try and think her way into sleep.

 

Outside of her momentary refuge, Harry threw her half-read book into the flames, his eyes glinting darkly as he watched it burn.

 

***

 

The next few days followed a vicious pattern. They handed over in silence, avoiding each other except for the occasional wounded look from Hermione and furious glare from Harry. These days it didn’t matter if he wore the horcrux or not - in his mind he had lost everything dear to him. And when Hermione found yet another of her books scorched into tiny pieces, she could bring herself to fight. He was taking away those things that were precious to her, and she couldn’t blame him for that.

 

They grew more fatigued and weak as the days rolled on. Harry hunted furiously for meat, using the traps that Hermione had taught him at the beginning of their journey, back when they were full of joy and excitement. Now, he hunted with a sadistic burst, focused intently on the prey he brought in and gutted in front of her sleeping form. When she woke and placed it over the fire, turning slowly, he would smirk slightly, laughing at her taking her place. He didn’t give her the wand when they were both awake. The only refuge she had was when he slept. She would gather berries and nuts, looking for any edible plants that were still alive. There wasn’t much, and most fruitless trips would end with him looking scornfully at her half empty basket.

 

The sleep shifts he took grew shorter and shorter by the day. Hermione woke herself earlier one afternoon, only for his grim snarl to send her back into the tent immediately. She kept to her usual lengths after that, but couldn’t shake the concern for the boy who was becoming more frightening and cruel everytime she looked at him.

 

Two weeks later, and Harry was looking worse. His skin was sallow and the circles under his eyes a deep purple. His hair was a continuous greasy mess, and his body grew thinner and yet more muscled at he forced energy into hunting and chopping wood. Sometimes she would wake and see him punching and kicking at a large oak tree until his knuckles were covered in blood and his feet blistered. 

 

He was worn to the ground, battered and bruised from his own self neglect and anger. His lean frame coiled tightly and he looked up at as she approached, allowing her to take the wand and locket from him. His body and his mind protested, yearning for the return of his power. He was nothing, nothing without it.

 

His rest was fitful, and when his alarm rang out he bolted upright immediately. The beast inside him snarled happily, ready to take back what was His. She was a thief, taking what was rightfully his.

 

She went into the tent, and within 20 minutes Harry fell asleep too, soothed by the feeling that everything was finally right in the world. And if his scar hurt? His masochism rejoiced.

 

_ Flames from wall sconces lit a dark, cold room. It was completely bare other then its occupants and a few conveniently placed chairs and drinks tables. The threatening stone of the hard floor was scraping the knees of a bruised and crying brunette who shivered before him, held up by his hands in her hair and his cock forced down her throat. _

 

_ “You should feel honoured…” a snakelike voice hissed. “For me to allow such filth around my person, in my home… You should be grateful for the boon I am bestowing upon you despite your unworthy blood. Tell me how grateful you are.” _

 

_ The finally sentence was an order, accompanied by a wordless flick of one skeletal finger against her chin. Her face immediately smoothed out, her eyes still glassy with tears but devoid of all emotion.  _

 

_ “I am so very grateful, Master,” she purred with her roughened throat. “Thank you so much for offering your cock to this worthless mudblood filth. I shall endeavour to please you my Lord.” _

 

_ “Good whore.” _ __   
  


_ And Harry watched in pleasure as he/they defiled the filth in every hole with every object. They laughed as they slammed her face down into Bellatrix’s wet cunt, and as they took turns fucking her tight arsehole… _

 

_ They gasped, grasping their hard prick faster and faster, shuddering with pleasure at the debauchery before them, finally releasing in a burst of pleasure. _

 

He awoke with a start, his own lust lit and erection unspent. He needed one for himself, needed to be a part of the lustful encounters he had just witnessed. He needed to feel the power of a stupid little mudblood in her rightful place, taking it just as her worthless body was made for. Before he consciously made the decision, he rose from the tree he was leant against and prowled towards the flapping entrance of the tent.

 

“Lumos,” he hissed. 

 

A dimmed light cast a glow on the pale sleeping face of Hermione Granger, the only muggleborn at his disposal; a girl who had sickeningly wormed her way into his company for all these years. The dark haired man sneered, and with a flick of his wrist bound Hermione’s hands above her head. She shook her head slightly, a frown creasing her brow as she tugged fruitlessly with her arms. Harry pried her legs apart and knelt over her, teeth bared. He growled quietly, and placed the wand onto their small table where she would not be able to reach it, even if she could free herself from his powerful grasp.

 

She stirred, but did not wake. He watched her for a moment, his cock becoming painfully hard with anticipation. Lightning fast, he slapped her left cheek hard enough to send her head reeling to the side and darkening with his handprint. He hoped with a smug fascination that it would bruise and remind her of his superiority.

 

“Wha-” Hermione was immediately awake, eyes wide, and body contorting in an attempt to jump to her defensive stance. She kicked out, slamming the heel of one foot into Harry’s chest and the other into his chin. With cool concentration he grasped one foot into both hands and twisted hard. Her ankle gave way with a sickening crunch and a pained yell. 

 

“Keep that up and I’ll break the other one too,” he hissed, and Hermione’s eyes grew even wider as she concentrated on the shadowed face above her.

 

“Harry…” she whimpered. “Harry, what’s wrong? This isn’t you!” Her eyes fell onto the chain that lay against his collar bones. “Take it off! Take it off, Harry!”

 

“How dare you order me around, mudblood,” the possessed boy sneered. “You will lie there and take it. If you’re lucky, you might even enjoy it.”

 

She fought harder now, ignoring the pain that shot through her left leg. She writhed ferociously and screamed, “Harry! No! This  **isn’t** you!”

 

“Oh, but it is, you useless slut. How long did you think you could pretend to be one of us?” He laughed bitterly and slapped her again, pressing himself against her writhing body. “Anyone would think you want this. Do you want it, slut?”

 

“No! Harry!” She choked. “Please listen to me!”

 

“Like I would listen to one of your kind.”

 

Her fighting stilled as she took in a deep breath. “Please…” she whispered. “Please don’t hurt me.”

 

“It won’t hurt unless you fight,” he lied.

 

Animalistic urges roared inside his chest as he ripped her shirt open and squeezed her breasts roughly. He laughed at her pained shriek and renewed fight. 

 

“I thought you were going to behave.” 

 

With another swift rip, he tore her trousers and then her panties apart and immediately probed her vagina with his brutal fingers. When she tried to clamp her knees shut, he targeted a forceful punch to her delicate area. “For once your goody-two-shoes is going to pay off, you tight cunt.”

 

With a quick flick, his fly was open and his boxers pushed down. His erection sprung free and slid over her dry and swollen vagina. 

 

“Help!” she yelled. “Please, someone!”

 

“Muffliato, you stupid bitch. Didn’t think that one through, did you?”

 

With one quick, torturous thrust he seated himself into her virgin hole, moaning at the pleasure that shot through him. “Besides,” he added. “Who would come? Snatchers? I bet they would like to try this too.”

 

“Harry! Please stop! Please! I’ll fix your wand, I promise!”

 

“You think this is about my wand?” he snarled. “You’re stupider than I thought.”

 

Another sharp jerk of his hips sent a torrent of tears dripping onto her nose and cheeks. She flopped and wriggled beneath him, trying to find anyway out from beneath him. “Oh, keep fighting! You’ve no idea how good that feels around my prick.” As if to illustrate this, he hammered into her faster, cruelly smirking as her cries and pleads increased in pitch and volume. “I think I might even be able to come inside you. That’s more than you could’ve hoped to be worth, isn’t it? Whore!”

 

Her face fell to the side as she looked away from as friend that she had trusted with her life. 

 

_ Accio wand! _ She tried to command, but only managed a slight twitch. Her mind couldn’t do it. She would need to use words. She would need to hope that her attacker wouldn’t notice until it was too late. 

 

“Accio wand,” she whispered, victorious as the familiar length of wood shot towards her bound hands. Escape was finally, finally so close. Her ordeal could be over-

 

“Mudblood cunt!” His voice screamed, and he ripped her salvation away after a mere brush against her fingertips. “Imperio!”

 

He withdrew from her, eyes blazing with fury. She no longer cried, locked inside a newly pliant exterior.  

 

“Now”, he breathed, face flushed and body shaking. “Tell me how much you want my cock. Tell me how undeserving you are of any part of me touching you.”

 

She shook her head, unable to clear it with the force of trauma. Her voice betrayed her mind and released the words he was searching for. “ Please, please, Harry. Please give me your cock.”

 

He laughed loudly, but his fist connected with her jaw. “Good effort, slut. Unfortunately, you addressed me incorrectly. You shall call me ‘my Lord’. Understand me?”

 

“Yes, my Lord.”

 

As his eyes made contact with her own, a gentle serenity passed over her features to leave her quiet and subservient, awaiting her next command.

 

“Good, mudblood. And to think I’ve been using you for your memory all these years? If only I’d known how fucking tight you would feel,” he shook his head. “But no matter. I suppose even worthless mudbloods have to be useful for something. And you’re useful for two! A miracle really…”

 

Hermione nodded eagerly, smiling up at her master. “A miracle, my Lord! How may I please you?”

 

“Suck.” 

 

She obeyed enthusiastically, quickly bringing him to a pulsing release. He cried out as he came in her throat and lost control of his magic, and his hold over his victim. With no thought of anything else, Hermione willed herself to be somewhere safe. Somewhere familiar and warm.

 

With a thud, she landed on the dusty carpet of Grimmauld place, tears dripping from her chin as she thought of Harry. The friend, the boy, who had grown into the man that used an unforgivable curse to commit an unforgivable act.

 

She jolted to the side, and vomited all over the dusty carpet that had been placed by Walburga Black, while the woman’s portrait berated her for her bloodline, state of dress, and vandalism of property in a high paced shriek that failed to penetrate Hermione’s internal hell.

 

  
  



	2. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After her traumatic ordeal at the hands of a friend, Hermione turns to the only person she can think of: Albus Dumbledore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter One: Hermione, Ron and Harry are horcrux hunting, struggling with the weight of voldemort's soul hanging over them. Ron leaves, and the increased exposure to the locket causes difficulties for Harry in particular. After experiencing a vivid dream of Voldemort's revels, and an assault that takes place during, he is filled with a desire to replicate the events that he's seen. Naturally, he turns to Hermione. He rapes her and places her under the imperious curse. It is only after he has reached completion that she is able to apparate wandlessly to Grimmauld place, naked and with no possessions.
> 
> Similar warnings to before: This fic contains topics of a sensitive nature. If you are a cub, or if you're quite sensitive to difficult themes, just don't read it. 
> 
> Anything you recognise belongs to JK. And yes, Dumbledore is a bit of an ass in this chapter, but some of you should be able to understand. If not, then you will do later on.

**Chapter Two - The Aftermath**

 

Once Hermione had wiped the bile from her lips and cleaned the carpet wandlessly as best she could, she moved into the living room and reached for a blanket that rested on a worn armchair from the nights that she and the others had stayed there at the start of her journey.

 

She wasn’t safe, she wasn’t safe, she wasn’t safe…

 

A Death Eater had been here. She wasn’t safe.

 

With renewed determination she moved to the fireplace, tucking the blanket tightly around herself and securing it over her breasts. She pinched some floo powder from the antique snuff box and threw it shakily into the fire.   


“Hogwarts, Headmaster’s office.”

 

A few mere moments later, the face of Albus Dumbledore appeared in the flames,  and Hermione fell to her knees in relief.

 

“Professor Dumbledore, sir!” She sobbed. “Harry, he-”

 

“Is he with you, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore asked. “You know that it isn’t safe to return to Grimmauld.”

 

“I know, sir, I do! But I had the leave, there was nowhere safe, and here isn’t safe either! Please! Can you help me? I need you to help me.”

 

“Of course, Miss Granger,” he murmured soothingly. “Can you remember the answer to the security question we put in place?”

 

“Security? What? I need to come through! Please!”

 

“The answer, Miss Granger. I need to ascertain that you are, in fact, you.”

 

“I-” She sobbed harder and placed her face in her palms, rocking slightly as she tried to clear her mind of the torment. “I-”

 

“Take your time, dear.”

 

She took a deep breath and lifted her head. “Hogwarts, a History. Page 76.”

 

“Excellent! Come on through, Miss Granger.”

 

His head vanished from the flames and Hermione lurched forwards, pushing herself into Dumbledore’s office with the fear that if she waited even a second longer, the option would be taken from her.

 

“Have a seat, Miss Granger.”

 

“Thank you, Professor.”

 

“Now, may I ask about your state of dress? I assume this isn’t a fashion statement?” His eyes twinkled, but Hermione was definitely not in the mood.

 

“Harry, he assaulted me!” She spat. “I woke up to find him on top of me. He raped me, and put me under the imperius curse! He has my wand…”

 

“These are very serious allegations, Miss Granger.”

 

“They’re true, I swear! I’m telling the truth!”

 

“The truth, Miss Granger, is very subjective. Unless you are willing to provide your memories of the events and subject yourself to questioning, I am afraid that allegations will stay, simply allegations.”

 

“So I need to share my humiliation to be taken seriously?”

 

“Sadly, Miss Granger, yes.”

 

“But you believe me, don’t you?”

 

“I was not present. At this moment of time, I can observe that you are traumatised and lacking in clothing. What is to say that your assailant wasn’t someone using the polyjuice potion? Or that Harry was under the imperius curse? You see, this makes justice, sadly, difficult to be found without distinct evidence.”

 

“But, my body. Surely you could find some genetic proof there?”

 

“Is that a muggle invention?” Dumbledore chuckled. “Ingenious! We shall have to look into it. Would you consent to my bringing you to Madam Pomfrey for a check over?”

 

“Thank you, Professor.”

 

“I understand you will not wish to wander the halls in your current state?”

 

“Definitely not!”

 

Again, Dumbledore twinkled in his own charming way, and extended an arm to help her up. “Do you mind if I do the honours my dear? I only wish to transfigure your attire into something rather more convenient, and to disillusion you for our little journey.”

 

“Please do.”

 

It was with no small amount of trepidation that Hermione allowed the Headmaster to point his wand towards her. She closed her eyes and took a deep, soothing breath.

 

“All done. Now, we must be going.”

 

Her hand tucked in his elbow was the only thing that kept her from falling down the marble staircase and the staircases following. It seemed the Headmaster had a great deal of influence over the castle itself, the staircases moving flawlessly into a direct route to the infirmary. Similarly, doors appeared where she hadn’t seen them before, and tapestries shifted to reveal hidden hallways. She noted them with only the bare minimum of interest, but Dumbledore smiled as if he were simply escorting her for a stroll.

 

“One perk of my job, I will admit. There is something very flattering about a castle reacting to your needs, wouldn’t you say?”

 

His comment barely registered, but if it had, she would have thought of the room of requirement, and the safe haven that it had provided in her fifth year. A room that could be anything she wanted it to be. Alas, for the only time in her life, Hermione was speechless and trapped in a single trail of thought.

 

_I’m not safe. I need to be safe. It’s not safe. I’ll never be safe._

 

“Poppy,” Dumbledore called calmly. “Poppy, I have a patient for you.”

 

“Coming Albus!” The no-nonsense matron bustled into view, her eyes widening with shock as Dumbledore removed the charm on her impromptu patient.

 

“Well dearie, let’s get you into a bed, shall we?”

 

She grabbed Hermione gently towards the bed, and Hermione complied, sitting awkwardly onto the edge. She slowly shuffled herself back, hissing as the pain became apparent.

 

“That’s it, let me have a look at you. What happened?”

 

The girl froze up, tears welling once again and her arms drawing tightly around herself. “I- I can’t…”

 

“Never mind, then. Albus! With me!”

 

The curtain was drawn across and Hermione sat frightened as she tried to listen to the conversation happening close by. She heard nothing, for quite some time, and the fear grew with each moment that passed. What would Madam Pomfrey think? Would she pity her? Or would she blame her? What if Harry had done damage that couldn’t be fixed? She could be broken forever, always with a reminder of her ordeal. She sunk lower and lower into her thoughts, a dark chill taking hold of her. When the two returned, they found the brunette huddled small and fragile on the bed as if she were a small child. When she looked up at them, it was the huge eyes of a wounded deer.

 

“It’s okay, child. Dumbledore here has told me what has happened. What an awful attack.” She tutted, and gathered items from a drawer next to Hermione’s bedside. With a small flick, a metal cart came to join her, and madam pomfrey carefully laid out her materials.

 

“You will need to leave,” she informed Dumbledore. “I will call you once she has been seen to, and then we will be able to further discuss this in my office.”

 

Without looking to see if the man agreed, she pulled the curtains closed once more, and placed a sheet over her patient to provide some modesty. After the day’s events, Hermione found it rather unnecessary.

 

***

 

2 hours later, Hermione had been poked and prodded all over, and numerous diagnostic charms cast before she was given several potions for pain, healing, and contraception. She took the latter gratefully, revolted by the thought of carrying such a child. If anything could be worse than the events themselves…

 

She was dozing, the mix of medicines coursing through her veins and providing her with much needed relief. She knew all of the ingredients of each potion by heart, and if they acted as sedatives, why would she complain? She was just feeling the grips of sleep take her when she was shook awake by a gentle hand.

 

“Miss Granger.”

 

“Hmmmm,” she tried to shake the hand off. “I need to rest.”

 

“That you do, my dear. But not here.”

 

Hermione opened her heavy eyelids slowly and frowned at the man beside her. “Not here? Where am I going, Professor Dumbledore?”

 

“Somewhere safe.”

 

“Am I not safe here?” She whispered quietly. “Where is safe?”

 

“Come with me, and I’ll explain everything.”

 

She rose slowly out of bed and pulled a Hogwarts issue robe over her nightgown as she joined the headmaster where he was stood by the window. “Sir?”

 

“Ah, very good, Miss Granger. Let’s go, shall we?”

 

He offered her his arm once more, but it was with trepidation that she allowed herself to be removed from the care of Madam Pomfrey. She kept her lips closed as they walked, waiting for them to arrive at a destination where she could ask questions. The halls were empty and the window’s dark. No students should be out of bed at this hour.

 

He led her in the direction of his office, but turned to the right just before reaching the familiar space. Hermione frowned, eyes wandering the walls of the corridor that they walked in. It was more narrow than the usual for Hogwarts, suggesting that this was not an area for students to be traipsing around. Indeed, she had never been here in all her years as a student.

 

“This is a staff and visitor’s wing, Miss Granger. It is usually hidden from students. Each professor’s office leads to one of these rooms, where they can find a reprieve from their students.”

 

She glanced at him. “Then how do they know when someone is at their office out of hours? Or when someone is in trouble?”

 

“There are charms for that, Miss Granger. And the schedule of patrolls keeps everyone informed of the goings on in Hogwarts.”

 

He stopped at a heavy wooden door with a brass door handle, similar to every other door in the corridor. “This shall be your room while you heal. Would you like to enter?”

 

Hesitantly, she reached for the doorknob and pushed it open to reveal a sitting room with a fire already lit and two doors on the left side. A large sofa sat in front of the fire along with an armchair and a small coffee table. In one corner sat a writing desk with parchment and quills neatly laid out.

 

“You will need to set your own password for these rooms. Unlike the dormitories, there is no portrait guarding the door. The handle itself is sentient. To set the password you need only to grasp the handle in your left hand while pointing your wand at it with your right. Think the word that will be your password, and then use this same action each time afterward to open it. As it is linked to both your password and your magical signature, no one will be able to enter without your being present.”

 

“Thank you, Professor Dumbledore,” she murmured thickly. “Thank you so, so much.”

 

“It is no problem at all, my dear. May I take a seat?”

 

“Of course, sir.” She blushed. “I’m sorry I didn’t offer sooner.”

 

“It’s alright, Miss Granger. I find we put too much effort into formalities. May I order you a pot of tea from the kitchens?”

 

She nodded and took a seat on the sofa, while her Headmaster took the armchair. A click of his fingers and a small elf appeared, clean and tidy. It was wearing an outfit that was clearly Hogwarts issue, and Hermione smiled.

 

“Hello there.”

 

“Hello, miss! Spiffy is here to serve Missy’s needs! What may I do for you, miss?”

 

“A pot of tea would be lovely, please, Spiffy.”

 

“Coming right up!”

 

With a small pop, the elf vanished.

 

“At home already, Miss Granger!” Albus Dumbledore crowed happily. “Very good, very good. Should you require anything else, simply click your fingers and call for Spiffy, he will happily see to you.”

 

“Thank you, Professor Dumbledore.”

 

Spiffy returned with a tray containing a large pot of tea, two teacups, a milk jug and a small bowl of sugar. There was even a plate of chocolate biscuits on the side, and a small rumble reminded Hermione that she was hungry. She offered the plate to Dumbledore before taking one herself, and they both sipped their tea in silence for a few minutes before she spoke.

 

“Professor? Why did I need to leave the infirmary?”

 

“Because I could not risk other members of staff or students finding out about your predicament, Miss Granger. It would be far too dangerous information in the wrong hands.”

 

“I wouldn’t want anyone to find out,” she said to her teacup. “But why would it be dangerous? Do you think someone would use it to hurt me?”

 

“Indeed I do, Miss Granger. I also believe it could be used to harm the Order, which is why I must ask that the information stays between us.”

 

“You think that people would start to doubt Harry.” Her voice was flat. “You think that this could compromise the war.”

 

“Yes, Miss Granger. That is my belief. I am glad you are capable of understanding the situation. You are, indeed, a very clever witch.”

 

The words, meant to placate her, only made her flinch at the term used to describe her in childhood. Childhood seemed so very irrelevant, now.

 

“You don’t want me to go back to him, do you? Because I don’t think there is anyway that I can. Please, Professor. Please. I just can’t.”

 

“I wouldn’t presume to send you back to a situation in which you might become distressed, or a role in which you may become a liability. Should you return to Harry’s side, it will be of your own free will. For now, I would like to suggest that you remain at the school to study for your NEWTs. Think of these last few months as simply an extended summer break.

 

“You may remain in these rooms until the start of the next term, in a week’s time. That should give you enough time to heal and restore some of your strength. Then, to keep up appearances, I suggest that you move back into Gryffindor dormitory. Wouldn’t want people to ask you too many questions, after all. I imagine that would make things very difficult for you.”

 

“Thank you, Professor. What reason will be given for my return?”

 

“Among the students, simply that you wished to take your NEWTs. Among our allies, simply that you are doing research for the cause. And among the order, the truth. That you have suffered and survived an attack from Voldemort’s soldiers, and have returned to Hogwarts for your own safety, as well as to provide the research that we so desperately need.”

 

“What will I be researching, sir?”

 

The Headmaster rose from his chair, and patted her knee. “That is a discussion for when you are feeling better. For now, you need to rest. I shall have the necessary items of clothing and equipment sent to you as soon as possible.

 

“Good night, Miss Granger.”

 

“Goodnight, Professor Dumbledore.”

  



	3. Wandlore and Dreamless Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is provided with a new wand, and finally gets a proper night's rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back again, with another chapter that really sets the scene for what's to come. No Snape interaction as of yet, but they're coming! I promise!

When Hermione awoke the next morning, refreshed after the best night’s sleep she had experienced in quite some time, she was disoriented. She sat up quickly, and reached for her wand before remembering that it was no longer in her possession. 

 

In fact, it was very unlikely that it was even  _ hers _ . From what she had studied of wandlore, she knew that the suitability of a specific wand to a person could change throughout their lifetime. While the wand chooses the wizard, and is supposed to grow with the user’s power, there was a difficulty in maintaining allegiance when the witch herself was no longer quite ‘her’. Her wand had been vinewood and dragon heartstring, and she lay back on her pillow as she tried to think through the meanings and changes to her wand suitability.

 

According to Ollivander, Vinewood had been favoured as a traditional ‘tree’ of the druids. It was suitable for those who were ambitious, and multi-faceted. It had connected immediately to the determined and curious young girl that had entered Ollivander’s wand shop aged eleven. As the druids were high ranking professionals, who held power and literacy in a time when most folk did not, Hermione considered that perhaps the Vinewood was no longer for her… it had been used by the most traditional magic users, going back centuries. And those, she recalled, had been of a religious persuasion. She herself was not, and with the desecration of her whole being, and the shift in her intentions, she could not think herself to be anything akin to those druids of the past. Her magic had changed. She could feel it deep inside her, and there was a sharp twinge of agony at the thought of being rejected by the beautiful vessel that had grown with her into adulthood.

 

The Dragon Heartstring, however, would likely still suit her. It was a core highly capable of producing even the most complex magic, regardless of the original intent of the spell, or where the knowledge was sourced. Dragon heartstring chose witches and wizards who would require a wand that could handle their innate power, and she could still feel that power inside her, wounded though it was… 

 

As she pulled herself out of bed, and threw on the pile of ill-fitting clothing that she found on her chair, she made her decision to search for Professor Dumbledore.

 

He was already in the great hall when she entered for breakfast, and she smiled softly at the familiar sight of his long beard being held back from his morning bowl of porridge. The hall was empty, but the smell was the same, as was the enchanted ceiling showing the crisp winter’s day above. She walked over to the Gryffindor table, feeling a settled calm in the pit of her stomach as a mug of steaming coffee appeared in her usual seat. She picked it up, and before thinking twice, made her way up to the head table, when only Professors Snape and McGonagall were keeping the headmaster company.

 

“Good morning, Professors.”

“Good morning, miss Granger,” Minerva spoke softly. “We are so sorry to hear of recent events. If there is anything I can help you with, do let me know. I am sure my colleagues also extend this sentiment.”

 

Dumbledore beamed, but Severus Snape only stared at her with a deep, probing expression that prompted her to turn away from him as quickly as possible. 

 

“Headmaster, I was wondering if I could have a word with you after breakfast perhaps?”

 

“Of course, my dear! I am almost finished, if you would like to accompany me to my office?”   
  


“Oh! It’s not urgent, professor. I was simply wondering if I could obtain a new wand? Ollivanders is closed, and I don’t know of anywhere safe to visit. Please, enjoy your breakfast.” She had spoken hurriedly, and before the professors could reply, had spun on her heel to exit the great hall, her steps fast and her shoulders hunched over as she made her escape before she could be spotted by any remaining students sleepily entering for their own breakfasts. She returned to her room, and realised that there was very little to occupy her time, despite the comfort of her private space. She moved over to the ornate desk, and placed her mug onto a dark wood coaster. She reached grimly for a sheet of parchment and a quill.

 

_ The incident - Harry or not? _

 

She chewed the end of the quill thoughtfully, as she tried to detach herself from the events long enough to produce a list of pros and cons for Harry truly being the perpetrator of her suffering. Before long, her thoughts strayed from mechanical observation to something far more sinister.

 

_ “If you’re lucky, you might even enjoy it”... _

 

Had she? Is it possible that she had enjoyed it? She remembered arriving in Grimmauld place, and the throbbing wetness between her legs. Surely that meant she’d enjoyed it? She shuddered, and rose unsteadily from the chair to return to her bedroom. 

 

Revolted and ashamed, she slipped off her shoes and slid back under the covers, willing herself to return to sleep. She turned to her side, and eyed the empty bottle of dreamless sleep on her bedside table. With a small sigh, she reached into the drawer for a second dose. The next thing she knew, it was evening, and the room was lit only by the waning light of the setting sun as it peaked through her open curtains.

 

She rose again, feeling a metallic taste in her mouth, and entered the bathroom. With a quick rinse and a wash of her face, she felt slightly more awake, but foggy. The second dose in 24 hours had certainly been more than Poppy would have prescribed.

 

“Spiffy,”  she called, clicking her fingers softly into the dark room. With a ‘pop!’ the elf appeared with a cheerful countenance.

 

“Missy is awake at last! How may Spiffy serve miss?”

 

Swallowing her pride at asking the assistance of the small servant, Hermione sighed softly. “Would you be able to light the fire and fetch me a cup of tea, please, Spiffy? I find myself quite cold.”

 

“Would you like me to bring a blanket as well, miss?” the elf asked happily. “Spiffy is happy to bring anything the Missy needs!”

 

“Please, call me Hermione,” she murmured. “A blanket would be lovely, thank you.”

 

A moment later and the elf returned, a tray with a mug of  tea and a plate of sandwiches in one hand, and a thick red and gold blanket in the other. 

 

“Here you are, Missy Hermione!” He waved his hand at the fireplace, sending it into a roaring flame, and left the room with a smile and a wave.

 

When Hermione placed the tray down onto the coffee table, she noticed a thick piece of parchment propped up against her mug, and reached for it. Pulling the thick blanket around her shoulders, she curled her legs onto the sofa and gave it a read.

 

_ Miss Granger, _

_ As I was unable to find you after breakfast, I would like to offer myself should you wish for company and conversation. If you would prefer to remain in your rooms, then that is also your own choice. _

_ Regarding your wand, if you would please sign this parchment and push forth your magical signature, I shall see to procuring you a wand that would best suit your current needs.  _

_ Kind regards, _

_ Prof. Albus Dumbledore. _

 

Frowning, Hermione grabbed a quill and focused on pushing her magic into the signature she produced. Immediately, the parchment vanished, and she grabbed her hot drink to warm her cold hands.

 

She didn’t emerge for dinner, finding that the sandwiches took care of her appetite well enough. Likewise, she didn’t occupy her time with anything other than drinking tea and dozing under her blanket on the sofa. Her once busy mind was mostly blank, with only the most fleeting of thoughts to wander through, detached of emotion and unable to spark any response from the numb vessel that had created them.

 

The next couple of days passed in much the same manner, save for the arrival of a Hogwarts issue trunk at the end of her bed, containing items that she would require for the coming year. They remained unpacked, as Hermione stayed in the clothing that she had donned for her foray into the great hall. The collection of dreamless sleep by her bedside continued to grow, until she had difficulty remaining awake for any period of time other than to eat and drink what Spiffy brought her, and use the bathroom. She didn’t shower, but instead splashed water on her face and brush her teeth with a diligence that would have made her parents proud. Every time she awoke, the taste in her mouth disgusted her, and she brushed her tongue and gums raw trying to remove it. It became a small obsession, a single piece of control over an activity that she could do just for herself.

 

She knew that she should dress, but why? Why would she dress simply to resume her schedule of sleeping and drinking tea?

 

She knew that she should exit her chambers, but she also knew that she did not want to be seen. And so, the pattern continued until Spiffy brought forth another piece of parchment with her requested supper. 

 

_ Dear miss Granger, _

 

_ As previously communicated, I have obtained a new wand for you, and would like to deliver it to you in person tomorrow morning. I will be arriving at around 10:30, should you wish to be prepared for visitors.  _

 

_ Hoping you are well, _

_ Prof. Albus Dumbledore. _

 

Dumbledore arrived at 10:30 on the dot, leading Hermione to believe that he had been stood outside her door with his pocket watch, waiting for the exact moment the clock turned. It felt kind of creepy.

 

“Professor. Would you like to come in?”

 

“Thank you, miss Granger.” He twinkled, his eyes setting upon the tea set already prepared on the table with a selection of pastries and fruit for breakfast. He gestured towards it. “Do you mind?”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

The headmaster poured a mug of tea for Hermione, adding a slice of lemon and a spoon of honey before pouring his own brew, with honey, lemon, and far too much sugar to ever be considered healthy.

 

“I imagine you are eager to see your new wand?”

 

Hermione forced every bone into her body to relax, and put on a face of calm. “If you please, I would very much enjoy that.”

 

Albus Dumbledore’s eyes lost some of their twinkle as they looked for hers, and she dropped her gaze to a point close to his right ear. He frowned slightly before pulling a dark mahogany box from his robes. “As you can imagine, I had some difficulty finding a wand maker who was both available, and happy to work in such a fashion. I hope that this will suit you, but if it does not, then we can return to the drawing board.”

 

She nodded, and tried to subdue the overwhelming urge to grab the box and protect it with her life. Her magic was singing out, desperate to have an outlet once more. The contents of said box seemed to call out to her, meeting her seamlessly. She knew, deep down, that she would be fine with this wand.

 

As she pulled the box from his grasp, he watched her cautiously. “This is a little different from your previous wand, miss Granger. It is 7.5inches, shorter than most wands, and has a core of unicorn hair wrapped around griffin feather. The wood is blackthorn…”

 

Hermione reached for the wand, shorter than any she’d ever seen. The thick handle and pointed end made it resemble more a dagger than a wand, and the weight well perfect in her grasp. It could easily be hidden up a sleeve or in a small pocket. She tightened her fingers around it in a grim smile.

 

“I’m fairly certain Ollivander only used dragon heartstring, unicorn hair, or phoenix feather,” she observed. “Why would a griffin feather be used for a wand?”

 

“I was hoping that you might be able to provide some of your own opinion on this,” the headmaster mused. “A wand is very specific to its owner. Here we have a very unusual wand, for a very unusual witch. Blackthorn, miss Granger, is a warrior’s wood. You are, of course, going to be vital to the cause. But the core…”

 

“Unicorn hair is in itself not very powerful,” Hermione murmured. “And the hair has a tendency to die if used in a manner befitting its source. Griffins, however, are a symbol of power. They were also thought to be protectors of priceless possessions. I imagine that the feather is used to stabilise the unicorn hair, and to provide power that the unicorn core does not.”

 

“Then why do you think the unicorn hair was used?” Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully, the twinkle returned to his blue eyes. “Food for thought… It is also interesting that the Griffin is both a lion and an eagle, don’t you think?”

 

He popped a grape into his mouth and placed his teacup back on the table. “I must be going. Let me know how the wand works for you.”

 

“Thank you, professor Dumbledore.”

 

“You are very welcome, my dear.”

 

Then he was out of her hair, and Hermione thought on what he had told her, and what she could potentially use the wand to do. It was almost midnight by the time she used it, having spent most of the day pondering the unique core, or sleeping with it held tightly to her chest.

 

“Accio dreamless sleep.”

 

The bottle was in her hand almost  immediately, and a true smile lifted her lips as she undid the stopper on the small vial. She was unconscious almost immediately, her mind soothed with thoughts of the magic that this wand may be able to produce.  

  
  



	4. The New Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has her first lessons as a seventh year student. Things are starting to look a little strange at Hogwarts.

As Hermione had suspected when Voldemort’s presence had become more overt during the summer, Gryffindor house had suffered a definite reduction in numbers, particularly among the younger years. As the students piled into the great hall for dinner, all four tables were less full than in years past. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had been hit the worst, but there were still students missing from the Ravenclaw table. The only house that seemed close to its usual numbers was Slytherin.

 

Hermione watched from her seat near the end of the table as the Slytherin first years strode over to the table, smirking and bumping fists with the older kids. It was as if they had been initiated into a very private club that they had been entitled to at birth. She couldn’t help the downturn of her lips as she observed them.

 

“Earth to Hermione!” A sharp prod to the side, and Hermione turned to glare at the redhead next to her.

 

“What?”

 

“See something you like?” Ginny joked, nodding her head at the sea of green ties. “You certainly seem interested in  _ something _ .”

 

“Not like that, Gin. I was thinking… Slytherin outweighs the rest of the houses, now.”

 

Her companion shrugged, but her face was sad. “You should have seen the sorting ‘Mione, it was as if students were actually  _ asking _ to be put in Slytherin, with the amount that joined.”

 

“I guess it’s the safest place to be right now,” Neville added from his space opposite her.

 

“That… actually makes sense.”

 

The rest of the meal was spent quietly, with Neville and Ginny directing questions about Hermione’s time on the run, and her mostly avoiding answering them.   
  


If she thought dinner was bad, the rest of the evening was spent in the Gryffindor common room, fending off questions from every year group. They ranged from “How is Harry?” to “What’s Harry up to?” to “Is Harry going to kill Voldemort?”. It wasn’t until nearly 10 o’clock that people started to ask why she had chosen to come back for her NEWTs, and if she would still be taking the same subjects as before. She begged off of their questions quickly, telling them that she was tired from her journey; as they presumed that she had returned earlier that day, it was easy to do. 

 

As she lay in her familiar bed, in the dorm that she had shared with Parvati and Lavender for the last six years, she sighed. Everything in the room was the same, from Lavender’s posters of ‘sexy’ wizards, to the incense that Parvati liked to burn. The holder had been a gift from her late grandmother, a woman who Parvati always spoke of reverently, even though she had never known of her granddaughters’’ abilities.

 

The sight made her heart ache. At the foot of her bed sat an unfamiliar chest, filled with school things that weren’t her own, and a humble amount of items that were hers, but unfamiliar. She had sent off for a few items via mail order, all of which were muggle. Her small gringotts account had been recently closed by the ministry, a sure sign of the changes that were occurring all around her. While Dumbledore remained headmaster of Hogwarts, he had none of his old sway in regards to politicians or much of the wizarding public. As fear grew, so did Voldemort’s power. Instead, she had bought items online, using a computer at a nearby library. Professor McGonagall had escorted her, and had been kind enough to collect the packages from the post office they were delivered to, asking no questions about the contents inside.

 

She longed for her small beaded bag. She had felt so prepared holding it, knowing that no matter what she needed, she had it at hand. Months had gone into the preparation of her ‘survival kit’ containing hundreds of items from the sentimental to the rare and the practical. As hopeful as she had been, it contained items of Harry’s and Ron’s - the people that she had thought would be fighting beside her, always.

 

And now… now she was so very much alone. She rolled over on her side, and tried her best to cry silently as she heard her doormates enter in a flurry of giggles.

 

***

 

The next day, she showered and dressed before they woke. The starched uniform was rough against her skin, and her face worn and gaunt where it had once been soft and full of life. She looked nothing like her old self, and it was difficult to remember how little time had really passed. Her hair was coarse and thin, laying flatter than it had in years past. It was held back with a plain black band, making her look older than her years as it bared her face.

 

Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

 

She grabbed a mug of coffee and a small plate of breakfast foods from the great hall, and went to find a bench by the lake. It was still cold, and the grounds were still covered in snow, but she dried a bench, cast a warming spell over her robes with the replacement wand that Dumbledore had procured on her behalf, and lit a small fire in front of her. With more safety and comfort than she had felt since leaving the school 6 months earlier, she luxuriated in the crisp feel of nature, and the knowledge that it was very unlikely anyone would disturb her for a good few hours. Hopefully, by then, she would be on her way to her first class of her seventh year at Hogwarts.

 

She couldn’t draw together her usual enthusiasm, but she felt a glimmer of  _ something _ as she reached into a black bookbag by her feet and pulled out her textbooks. They were slightly worn, and held none of her personal notations, but had all of the knowledge that she would need to refresh nonetheless. A few of the textbooks were even different to those that she had previously been studying. 

 

She frowned as she pulled out the slim volume of  _ Rudimentary Dark Arts _ from her bag. It was a small volume with a very nondescript cover, and the only one of the textbooks that was new. It hadn’t been on the syllabus previously, that she knew. As she opened it to the first page, and took a long sip of her hot drink, she pondered the meaning of the revised curriculum held in her hand. 

 

By the end of her second reading, her mind buzzed with questions. Were they being better prepared to defend themselves? It did seem in keeping with Snape’s philosophy of pushing his students constantly to do better. But, she realised, she hadn’t seen Professor Slughorn during her stay at the school so far. Just who would be teaching potions if Professor Snape was still in charge of Defence?

 

These thoughts were still plaguing her as the clock rang out, indicating loudly the first class of the day. She hurried back up to the castle, and found herself immediately pulled into the throng of students exiting the great hall. With her timetable memorised already, she hastily made her way to the dungeons, where she knew at least one of her questions would be answered.

 

The dungeons were mostly empty when she arrived, and Hermione took a seat at the back of the room. For the first time in her academic life, she felt too unsure to take a seat at the front. She was behind schedule by a whole term, and she didn’t have Harry or Ron beside her to boost her confidence. She was now the only Gryffindor in 7th year potions class, and the thought made her heart twinge.

 

Quickly thinking through the class numbers, Hermione realised that this very small group was likely all that would be attending, and with a sigh, she rose and began to make her way forward to one of the workstations near the front. As she was almost at her seat, a large “bang!” sounded, and she startled.

 

“10 points from Gryffindor, miss Granger. Now, do you think you could find your seat?”

 

Heat rose to the girl’s cheeks, and Snape rose an eyebrow as he waited for her to finally sit herself down. She didn’t have the energy to rush, and instead carried on to seat herself and bring out her textbook and quill at her own pace.

 

This at least answered one question, and yet produced many, many more.

 

She felt his eyes on her throughout the class, and her skin prickled in response. She sighed, and a stray hair lifted from one cheek. She knew she looked like shit; but she also knew that Snape wasn’t exactly a looker either. Her teeth ground together as he made his way towards her desk. 

 

He leaned forward, staring into the cauldron that she had just brought to boiling. She bit her lip, and continued to grind her Occamy eggshell. 

 

“Why are you preparing the shell at this point in the potion, miss Granger?”

 

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m giving the cauldron slightly longer to heat, by preparing the other ingredients while the ashwinder egg and horseradish fuse together. A common mistake of felix felicis is that the ingredients are liable to separate at the next stage. Contrary to popular belief,” she added, with a eyebrow raise to challenge his own, “the squill bulb is as useful to stabilise the potion as much as it is useful for its other properties. If I allow the initial base to start fusing now, the squill juice will retain more of its potency in the solution.”

 

To her surprise, he nodded.

 

“How did you come to this conclusion, miss Granger?” 

 

“Muggles use squill to manufacture cough syrups. They give a smooth texture that soothes the throat. In the case of felix felicis, this tendency needs to be balanced with the need for this to continue past the throat - it can’t be completely consumed in the consistency. Part of the felix felicis is that it needs to be able to override human thoughts and assumptions that would lead the ‘luck’ astray. No one would want to use a potion that only has a fifty percent success rate, Professor.”

 

He gave her a dark, contemplative gaze, considering her. “10 points from Gryffindor, miss Granger, for failing to follow instructions. And I expect 12 inches of parchment fully explaining this process on my desk by Wednesday morning.”

 

As he swept away, Hermione couldn’t help but notice the glances she was receiving from two ravenclaws. It seemed, as they looked to their own cauldrons and then back to their books again, that they were unsure what to make of her alteration, and to Professor Snape’s response.

 

Having completed her potion, and placed it into a side-room that she’d never seen before, Hermione continued to ponder the complexity of felix as she made her way to the library. The potion now had to simmer for six months… surely, if she were incorrect, Professor Snape would allow her to return this week and start over? She didn’t want to miss out on the testing and evaluating of the potion after all…

 

She heard a scream from the Defence classroom as she went on her way, but thought nothing of it until after 3rd period, by which time her mood had lifted with the weight of 4 inches of her assignment complete, and a good number of resources to back up the rest.

 

“Hey Ginny.”

 

Ginny looked up from her rather loaded plate, and patted the spot beside her. “Hermione! How’s your day going?”

 

“Reasonably well, thanks. Of course, I’ve only had Potions so far, and I’m not sure I did a good job in that class - Professor Snape removed 20 points from me during the lesson, and then took me to task for not following the book exactly, but I was doing a fair amount of reading while I was in Slughorn’s class and-”

 

“It’s Snape,” Neville interjected. “Only 20 points? I lost 4 times that in my first Defence class.”

 

Hermione somehow managed to find a glimmer of shock inside of herself. “You lost  _ eighty  _ points in  _ one class _ ?!”

 

He shrugged. “Well, it’s a class with a Carrow.”

 

“A Carrow?”

 

“Yeah,” He slipped a bit of apple into his mouth. “Brother and sister. They teach Muggle Studies and Dark Arts. Always need to watch it with those two.”

 

Ginny muttered something that sounded very much like ‘asshole death eaters’.

 

“ _ Miss  _ Weasley,” a familiar honeyed voice spoke from behind them. “Is there a comment you wish to address to the staff?”

 

She almost spat out her mouthful of sandwich. “No, Professor Snape.”

 

“Good. Five points from Gryffindor.”

 

With that, he swept up to the staff table, boots thudding and robes billowing.

 

“Only five points?” Hermione grumbled. “He must have taken a liking to you, Ginny.”

 

Neville snorted. “Nah, I think he just hates them as much as we do, Death Eater or not.”

 

She had nothing to say to that, so Hermione returned to silence and picked at her food. She never seemed to feel truly hungry anymore.

 

She had Herbology for fourth and fifth, and with nice, quiet Neville concentrating beside her, she felt that the greenhouses could easily become a refuge. As she had in sixth year, she entered the class to find Venomous Tentaculas. Where she was acceptable in handling them, Neville was truly gifted, and saved her from several injuries throughout with only a small smile each time as the both attempted to harvest parts of the plant for experimentation. As seventh years, they wouldn’t be able to experiment on the plants themselves, but they would be making observations and writing reports on the behaviours and characteristics of the parts they harvested, along with their own theories of potential uses. The experimentation at Hogwarts was generally undertaken by staff, with only rare cases of students co-publishing a paper with a teacher, if they had an idea that was noteworthy, and would be advisable careerwise to both the student and staff member. Hogwarts was fairly unique in this, and it helped to give the school such a reputable standing. While other schools encouraged research as part of their Newt equivalent, the standard of work that was produced at Hogwarts was generally better, likely due to the smaller amount of published works.

 

By the end of the class the January sun was beginning to set, and Hermione’s list of neat, precise notes was smaller than Neville’s. While many of their observations were the same, the difference was made in the annotations and question marks that adorned his parchment. 

 

They left the greenhouse to a chilly breeze, and both of them wrapped their cloaks tighter as they made their way up to the castle.

 

“You’re really talented with plants, Neville.”

 

He blushed, and Hermione almost smiled at the pink tips of his ears. “That’s what Professor Sprout says. I just, like them. I find it absolutely fascinating! Ever since that book that fake Moody gave me in fourth year, I’ve completely got the bug. I have- I have some books if you would like to read them…” he trailed off, and Hermione perked her lips up into a smile for him. 

 

“That sounds wonderful Neville! I’ll take any help that you’re willing to give - I could definitely use it.”

 

The boy blushed into a deeper shade of scarlet. “I mean, you’re really good at all your subjects anyway, and I know you’ve probably got a lot of resources anyway.”

 

She placed a hand on his arm. “Neville, I am nowhere near as good at Herbology as you are. NEWTs are so much more about intuition, you know? And we can help each other with Charms and Defence as well, if you’d like?”

 

“I wouldn’t like to take up too much of your schedule.” 

 

“You wouldn’t be.” She said firmly. “I like spending time with you, Neville. You’ve been my friend longer than anyone at Hogwarts. Unless you want to spend time with me-”

 

“No!” 

 

She laughed, and he grinned. 

 

“Any help you’re offering, I am definitely taking.”

 

And with that, they went up to the common room to exchange books before supper. For a full forty five minutes, she could almost pretend that she’d never left Hogwarts at all, that everything that had happened in the last few months hadn’t been real. She was able to push it all aside until one specific plant came up.

 

Murtlap.

 

Just like that, she remembered using murtlap essence on Harry’s hand after Umbridge had tortured him. Just like that, she remembered those hands hitting her. She remembered them violating her.

 

She sent Neville down to supper alone, claiming that she needed rest. She put on her pyjamas, drew her curtains, and cast a silencing spell. She took a small vial out of her bedside drawer.

 

She only had three left.

  
  



	5. Dark Arts and Essays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is introduced the the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and her friends become more insistent in regards to her talking about her time on the run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anything you recognise belongs to JK. A point for this chapter - Hermione's thoughts and beliefs aren't my own. I'm simply trying to convey how she is feeling at this particular point in time.

She was finished with her short assignment for Snape by lunch time the next day. Her first period of the day was charms, with a free session afterwards that Neville had used to speak to Professor Sprout. She declined his invitation to join, not wanting to ride on his success in the subject. Instead, she finished her work, double checked it for errors, and smiled grimly as she placed it into her bag. Tomorrow, she would hand it in to Snape, and hopefully find out why exactly he had asked her to do it.

The other three sessions were filled with Transfiguration, Arithmancy, and finally, Defence against the Dark Arts. Neville appeared to become more and more hesitant as they reached the classroom, his eyes darting around nervously. When they entered, he picked a desk at the back of the room, despite the class being still too small to fill the room. NEWT classes were generally small, and while it seemed that almost all seventh years were present, the room was still only half full.

His skin was as pallid as Snape’s, and he also commanded the room as he entered, though in a very different manner to the Potions Master. Where Snape commanded a room with his mere presence, knowledge, and strictness, Carrow made Hermione’s teeth clench before he had even said a word. He had his wand at the ready, and a cruel smile on his face as he locked the door.

He advanced towards them, smile widening.

“I shan't ask about your holidays, since I don’t care. As said at the beginning of the last term, my methods are ministry approved, so if anyone else wants to whine at their parents to send a letter of complaint, go ahead.”

His eyes fixed on Neville, and the girl next to him.

“Aren’t you going to come and join the class, Longbottom? And who is this? Find yourself a girlfriend?”

The Slytherins laughed, but Neville’s eyes narrowed. He had the same fear as he had always shown in front of Professor Snape, but he had now a determination and anger that resonated forwards. Hermione elbowed him in the side, and obediently moved to a desk closer to the front. Neville followed her in bad grace.

“Speedy speedy, Longbottom. Or do you want to be my demonstration buddy for today?”

Neville said nothing, and Carrow turned his attention to Hermione.

“And what’s your name, darling?”

She ignored him, following Neville’s actions in simply drawing her required materials from her bag.

His large, scarred fist slammed into the wood in front of her. She immediately flinched, and rose her eyes to meet his.

“I said. What’s. Your. Name.”

She took in a deep breath. “Hermione Granger, Professor.”

“Granger, eh?” he leered at her before standing to his full height. “I thought we’d gotten rid of all your lot.”

Surprise. The thought came to mind immediately, twisting into an urge to punch the man and run out of his class never to return. Her willpower was stronger, however, and Hermione remained silent.

“Hey, weren’t you with Potter? Did you have a lovers’ spat and resort to this lump of shit?”

A lovers’ spat. Lovers? Was that what it was? Had they been headed that way all along? Should she have offered herself earlier and saved herself the pain? If she’d offered, maybe he would have been gentle…

Tears filled her eyes, and Carrow laughed. “What’s wrong, girl? Run out of the famous type? Maybe you should have gone to Bulgaria to spend some time with Krum?”

She clenched her teeth. “Do you spend much time reading the Prophet, Professor?”

“It’s good to keep up with recent affairs, don’t you think?” He grinned sadistically. “Without the news, how do we know what’s going on, and which… threats… to stay away from? For some of us, these are very, very unsafe times.”

Hermione swallowed thickly, relief washing over her as Carrow made his way to stand behind his desk and tapped a large chalkboard with his wand. Large, childish letters appeared in blue chalk, messily putting the term’s syllabus onto the board.

“This term, we shall begin by learning about unforgivable curses. I understand that you have been taught about this in other classes but, under my teaching, you shall take a much more hands-on approach. You shall, by the end of this term, be familiar with the curses, and also how to integrate these with the curses and hexes that you studied last term. Some of you will lack the power required for this level of study,” his eyes landed on Hermione. “And you will find this to be a very uncomfortable experience.”

The Slytherins stifled giggles as they glanced hungrily at her. Her fear rose, as she naively hoped that this subject would not be as hands-on as it seemed. She was wrong.

***

“Professor Dumbledore!” She cried out, hammering her fists on the door to his office, the gargoyles complaining loudly about her lack of password or appointment. “Headmaster! Please!”

“What is happening here, Miss Granger?” A smooth voice called out behind her. “Surely you have studying to be doing?”

“Professor Snape!” She startled. “Do you know the password to Professor Dumbledore’s office?”

He inclined his head. “I do not have the authority to provide you with entry to a teacher’s private areas. I suggest you send the Headmaster an owl, requesting an audience. Or, as you should know, you could take this to your head of house.”

He raised one eyebrow, and Hermione’s gaze fell to the floor. “Professor, this is important.”

“As… important… as you believe this to be, I can assure you that many children have also thought their schoolgirl woes to warrant a Professor’s attention. But even first years know that their points of call are prefects, the head students, and their head of house. Now, unless you have exhausted all other avenues I suggest you head back to your common room or put your time to better use working on your assignment for tomorrow.”

“I’ve already finished it,” she snapped before she could stop herself. “Here.”

She pulled the parchment from her bag and held it out in front of him. Glaring, he took it from her.

“I directed you to place it on my desk tomorrow morning. You are lucky I’m in a benevolent mood.”

Without another word, she turned and stormed to Gryffindor tower, where the younger students scattered away from her and Neville and Ginny approached her with caution.

“Are you alright there ‘Mione?”

“Professor Snape,” she hissed at Neville. “Being an absolute arse.”

Ginny laughed. “That’s hardly news. What did he do now?”

She took a deep breath. “I went to the Headmaster’s office to tell him about the Defence curriculum, but I couldn’t get into his office. Professor Snape not only refused to give me the password, he also sent me back to my tower like an errant schoolchild.”

Ginny only laughed harder. “Hermione, to Snape you are an errant schoolchild!”

“I’m a fucking adult, Ginny! I’m way over the age of seventeen, with my time turner use I’m 19! And on top of that I’ve just spent several months on the run, I’ve experience horrific things, I’ve done horrific things! All I want it to help win this war, and to be treated with some fucking respect!”

Ginny started at her. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’ve been through - no one does. Maybe if you were to tell us about it…” she trailed off.

“No! It’s none of your business!” Hermione shouted, the whole common room staring at them by this point. “None of you even seem to care that this school has gone to shit.”

She grabbed her bag and stormed up to her dorm, hearing Ginny mutter behind her, “Someone has been spending too much time around Ronald.”

The door slammed behind her as she warded her bed and reached for a vial of dreamless sleep.

Two left. And then she would stop. She promised herself - two more and she would stop.

She woke around 3am, head pounding and still half immersed in her dream - the dream that she shouldn’t have had. It replayed over and over in her head as she gasped and shook, sweat pouring from every pore. She felt cold, the damp pyjamas giving her goosebumps. She quickly headed for the bathroom and locked the door behind herself. She crawled into the shower, still fully clothed, and let the warm spray flood over her.

_“What’s wrong with you?” Harry asked, confusion rife across his face. “You’re supposed to enjoy this.”_

_Ron scowled at her. “Good thing I didn’t bother, if you’re that bloody frigid. At least someone else has now sampled the goods. I should have stayed with Lavender.”_

_Hermione shook, naked in front of the two boys - the men that she considered to be family._

_“Did you at least try every hole, Harry?”_

_“Nah, I only tried two of them. Still had to use the imperius to get her mouth. Wouldn’t have been able to come with all of her useless whining.”_

_Ron shrugged. “That’s mudbloods for you. They can’t take a proper wizard’s cock. Might as well go back to their own kind. I hear they hardly ever do it - the don’t have the magic to make it enjoyable, you see.”_

_Harry snorted. “I think it’d take a lot more magic to make this one a proper witch. Cho and Parvati were both ecstatic. Multiple orgasms from both of them, and they begged me for more. Hell, even the muggle I fucked over the holidays was better than her.”_

_Ron smirked. “Well, maybe we should try the other hole, just to make sure…”_

She cried into her knees, curled up into a fetal position on the cold floor. She turned the heat up higher, trying to control the shivers and wash away the shame. She was different, she’d always been different. She always would be different. How could she not enjoy something that everyone else took so much pleasure in? What if she never would?

She knew about rape, but was this really rape? He was her friend after all, and he’d seen her in various states of undress on their journey. She’d tempted him, and then she’d ruined it when he came to her with a need to fulfill. That was her job wasn’t it? The whole point of it all? She needed to make things easier for Harry. She needed to help him so that he could save the world. Surely, surely, she should have been able to offer her body for that? What if he was upset by her reaction? What if he turned to other witches to have his wishes fulfilled? Maybe one of them would hand him over to Voldemort… and then where would they be?

Skin scorched red, hair dripping, and still whimpering, Hermione wandered back to her bed in her wet pyjamas, ignoring Parvati’s sleepy question. “Hermione, is that you?”

She lay on her bed and rolled into the duvet before reaching into her bedside drawer. It couldn’t happen again, she couldn't let it. She couldn’t cope with the vivid images that filled her hurt, fucked up head. She took both bottles, and downed them without a second’s thought. Maybe tomorrow she could be stronger.


	6. The Hospital Wing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts deals with a situation is wasn't prepared for, and Hermione begins to feel alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the people who left comments - they're much appreciated! :)

When the bell rang for classes, Hermione still hadn’t emerged from her bed and while the floor was dry, there was a smell of damp in the seventh year girls’ dormitory. It was through pure luck that Parvati had forgotten her Divination textbooks and had returned to the room with Lavender in tow.

 

There were already at the doorway to rush to class when Parvati stopped. “Did you see Hermione at breakfast today? It looks like her curtains are still drawn.”

 

“No, but have you met her? She’s never missed a class in her life.”

 

“She’s also always made her bed before leaving.” Parvati reasoned. “And I could have sworn that I heard her wandering around in the middle of the night.”

 

“It smells like something died in here.”

 

Lavender stormed over to Hermione’s bed. “Oi! Hermione! Are you in there?”

 

There was no reply, and Parvati came to stand beside her friend. “Hermione?” 

 

The two looked at each other before cautiously drawing the curtains open. There lay Hermione, the smell of damp stronger now. Parvati shook her shoulder. “Hermione?”

 

“Hermione!” Lavender called louder. “You need to wake up!”

 

Hermione stayed still. 

 

“Is she breathing?” Parvati asked. She was fidgeting anxiously with her robes. “Should we get someone?”

 

“She’s probably just slept in.” Claimed Lavender, but she didn’t seem convinced. She untucked the duvet from her roommate with some difficulty, pulling it from beneath her heavy form. “She’s ice cold.”

 

Parvati choked on a sob. “She is breathing though - look! I can see her chest moving!”

 

“We need to get Professor McGonagall.”

 

They ran to the transfiguration classroom, and within moments of interrupting the first class of the day, had Minerva McGonagall running ahead of them in her Animagus form. Parvati and Lavender were out of breath when they joined her, finding their head of house already bent over Hermione and casting a series of charms over her. She tutted, and brought forth her Patronus to warn Poppy.

 

“Professor?” asked Parvati. “Is she going to be okay?”   
  


The stern teacher looked at the two as if she hadn’t realised they were there, and her face softened. “I’m going to take her to the hospital wing. You may be excused from your morning lessons if you wish, but I suggest you go and see Madam Pomfrey at lunchtime, so she can check up on you before the afternoon sessions. If you need someone to speak to, I shall be in my office during second period, once Miss Granger is settled in the hospital wing.”

 

The two girls nodded, and slowly left the tower, determinedly not looking behind them to see McGonagall levitating Hermione to the hospital wing.

 

***

 

The dark haired woman had tears glistening in her eyes as she met Poppy Pomfrey already waiting at the door to the hospital wing. 

 

“What happened Minerva?”

 

“I’m-I’m not sure…” the usually confident scottish woman frowned and placed a hand on top of Hermione’s as she lowered her onto the bed. Poppy immediately began her evaluation, and Minerva hurried to tell her what she’s gathered from her own diagnostics.

 

“She’s unconscious, and likely has been for some time. She has respiratory depression and thus some deoxygenation, particularly in her extremities.”

 

Poppy nodded and felt the girl’s hands, and then her feet. “Has she taken any medication? Anything that I haven’t prescribed for her?”

 

Minerva frowned. “I don’t think so. Has she been prescribed anything this term?”

 

“Not from me,” Madam Pomfrey replied crisply. “However she may have her own medications from her time away from the school. Anything she has, I need to know about. I advise you to check her dormitory.”

 

When she turned her full attention back to the girl in the bed, Minerva knew she was dismissed, and left the room in a hurry, passing Professors Dumbledore and Snape on her way. The two men were moving powerfully towards their student, no signs of trepidation or concern. They waited for the mediwitch to finish her diagnostics, and to set her monitoring alarms above the bed before they interrupted.    
  


Dumbledore spoke quietly while Severus glowered. “Any idea what has caused this, Poppy?”

 

“I have some idea, Albus, but you’re not going to like it. She has respiratory depression and is almost comatose. The only causes I’ve seen similar to this are due to illicit substances.”

 

“I assure you,” Dumbledore offered. “No one in Hogwarts would have access to that level of recreational drugs, and Miss Granger is the least likely student to partake.”

 

“She’s been away from school for quite some time, Headmaster, and there’s no understanding the events that would have taken place while she was away. Instead of taking this slip as an affront to the school, you could either help Minerva to find a medical culprit, or provide your own deductions. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

 

Poppy bustled into her office, opening and closing drawers in rapid sequence while Snape and Dumbledore looked at each other, and then at the girl. 

 

“I suppose we should work on brewing an antidote of sorts.”

 

“Don’t you dare, Severus Snape!” Poppy snapped, placing a couple of worn files on the table next to them. “She is currently in a critical but stable condition. You can’t go around guessing willy nilly.”

 

“Well, we do need to do something, Poppy.” Albus reasoned, although trailing off at the sight of her face.

 

“Both of you, bloody useless at healing! We need to see what Minerva finds in the girl’s dormitory, and we need to check her files for any allergies or previous conditions. Do you want to make her worse, gentlemen?”

 

Both of them looked gobsmacked, and were only saved by the return of one feline McGonagall, vial held in mouth. She placed in beside the files on the table and rose into her human form. 

 

“I found several of these, all empty, on her nightstand. Most of them had been placed into a box for reusing, however there were three on the table with the stoppers pulled out.”

 

Poppy nodded. “Thank you, Minerva. Severus?”

 

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey?” 

 

“I will need you to brew me antidotes for dreamless sleep potion. The ones Miss Granger took must have been very potent, and I’d rather use a fresh antidote than the ones I have bottled.”

 

The man inclined his head, and turned to leave. “It will take around two hours.”

 

“Thank you, Severus.”

 

“Wait a moment!” Minerva’s voice was shrill. “Aren’t we going to discuss  _ how _ such a thing has happened right under our noses? This is the sort of thing that we should be able to prevent!”

 

Dumbledore sighed grimly. “I think we’d best hold this conversation in your office, Poppy.”

 

“You’ll have to wait a moment, Albus. Since it is the combination of the Valerian and Lavender that causes such a deadly sedation, we won’t be able to wake her until the antidote is administered. For now, I shall begin her detox process.”

 

“Detox?” Snape asked.

 

“Yes, detox,” the mediwitch tutted. “From the looks of things, she’s been taking this potion regularly - frequent sedation or overdose can cause-”

 

“Renal impairment.” Severus finished for her. “Will removing toxins now help to heal later?”

 

“Yes, lad. But only a little, and her kidneys will recover wonderfully regardless. She’s young and healthy. I’m more concerned about the withdrawal.”

 

Dumbledore nodded, and spoke up as Poppy put her wand away and stood to her full height.

 

“On to your office, my dear?”

 

***

 

Three hours later, Hermione began to stir under the watchful eyes of both Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape. They gave her the potion only a small amount at a time, transferring it directly into her stomach. When Severus questioned this, Poppy was quick to inform him that ‘to take orally’ simply meant that it should be introduced to the body via the digestive tract. As the goal was for it to enter the stomach anyway, the method did not particularly matter. As it wasn’t being sipped, and mixed with the patient’s saliva, they had to go slow, making certain not to dump the whole contents of the large vial into her in one go.

 

For the next fifteen minutes, the two experts watched as Hermione’s breathing improved, and a little colour came back to her. When she started to shift, groaning as she moved, Professor Snape took his leave, placing a neat scroll onto her table beside her water jug.

 

“Miss Granger,” Madam Pomfrey called. “That’s it, dear. Let’s try to wake you up a bit.”

 

“Where… am… I?” Hermione croaked out. “What happened?”

 

“We’ll discuss that later. Now, I’m going to raise the head of your bed slightly, so you can sit up. Is that alright?”

 

Hermione nodded, and felt her head and chest lift upwards until she was reclined at a 45 degree angle. She blinked rapidly, her vision foggy under the bright lights. Poppy hovered over her, tapping her wand on various charts above her bed. They contained glowing numbers that Hermione didn’t have the energy to examine thoroughly. She was starting to close her eyes again when the healer finished.

 

“Right, dear, how are you feeling?”

 

“Tired,” she replied. “All of my muscles are sore, and my throat feels like I’ve swallowed sandpaper.”

 

“Well then, you’re lucky,” the older woman clucked. “Anything else?”

 

“Uh, my head hurts. And I’m feeling sweaty.”

 

Poppy nodded. “You’ll need to stay for observation tonight at the very least. Possibly longer, depending on how long it takes for your symptoms to pass.”

 

“Why? Madam Pomfrey, I don’t think I’m sick. I just took some Dreamless Sleep to get some rest last night, I should be fine to go back to my dormitory today.”

 

“Absolutely not! Exactly how much Dreamless Sleep did you take last night, Miss Granger?”

 

Hermione paused.  _ Shit. _ “I think, I think I may have taken a little extra by accident.”

 

“By accident? And how exactly to you take three doses of a potent potion by accident?”

 

Poppy drew up a chair at Hermione’s bedside and pulled the curtains across should anyone enter the infirmary.

 

“I guess I woke up, and didn’t realise I’d already taken it,” she lied quietly, looking at the wall instead of at her interrogator. 

 

“Albus has explained everything, Miss Granger.” Poppy’s eyes turned to steel, and Hermione gulped down the sob that was threatening to break free. “And trust me when I say, we are going to help you here. But, you have to make sure that you do want to be helped. I will not condone numerous incidents like this.”

 

Hermione nodded dumbly, a couple of stray tears leaking down her cheeks as Madam Pomfrey left her cubicle. 

 

What, exactly, had the woman been told by Albus Dumbledore? The headmaster had agreed that only a select few people would know about what happened, and no one would know the specifics. She had no way of finding out what it was that the matron knew. Who else had he told? Were people talking about her behind her back?

 

Paranoia made her jump when the curtains were pulled aparts abruptly to show the smiling faces of Ginny and Neville.

 

“Hermione! You’re awake!” Neville sang happily. “We were really worried about you!”

 

Ginevra mock-scowled. “And I had to finish my charms homework without your help, so thanks for that!”

 

Hermione let out a throaty chuckle. “That’ll teach you for saving it until literally the last minute.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Ginny grinned. “Flitwick is a sweetie. As long as you don’t come bottom, you’re fine. I’m certain that I’ve got that in the bag - I’m in the same class as Moira.”

 

Hermione thumbed through her mental rolodex. “Hufflepuff girl? Good at Defence?”

 

“That’s the one! Terrible at charms though.”

 

Neville shook his head sadly. “Proves my Grandmother was wrong at any rate. If Moira can’t do it, then it isn’t a soft subject.”

 

Hermione and Ginny exchanged a look that promised to discuss this later. 

 

“So, wanna tell us what happened, Mione? You don’t seem to have a cat tail this time…”

 

Neville looked embarrassed, but Hermione laughed. “Nope, no cat tail. Just a good old overdose!”

 

“Drugs!” Neville yelped.

 

“Just dreamless sleep, Neville. But a little too much, so I ended up in here.”

 

Even though she had kept her tone light, she watched both of their faces for signs of suspicion or disapproval. When she saw neither, she relaxed a little more, and set her eyes on Neville. “So, what did I miss in Herbology?”

 

The next half hour passed quickly with Neville not only sharing his notes, but explaining them so that she’d be able to annotate her copy in a manner that she’d understand more than his own. It was warming, to see how two beautiful friends had replaced the two that she’d lost. They were just moving on to discussing Ginny’s charms class when Madam Pomfrey popped her head back in to shoo the visitors out. They both promised to visit again if she wasn’t released the next day, and then left Hermione feeling brighter than she had in some time. 

 

It was as if the very air around her had been cleansed by this very odd experience.

 

When she reached for a glass of water, she spotted a scroll propped up against the jug and opened it to find possibly the best comment she’d ever received from one Severus Snape.

 

_ Your reasoning is sound, however you are still stuck in the 19th Century. What a shame - and here I thought you were  _ **_wanting_ ** _ the world to progress? If you were to spend less time on house elves and potter, and more time to look in newer journals and less established works, you may find a lot more that warrants additional thought. These books you have referenced have been peer reviewed to death, and deserved to be locked in a basement somewhere. _

 

_ That said, your inferences about the potion are correct. At this point of observation, it seems your classmates’ potions will not even be edible. - S.S. _

 

It really had been the most bizarre and wonderful afternoon.

  
  



	7. Compliments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione finds herself discharged from the infirmary, and beginning her research for the order.

The next day, Hermione had just finished her breakfast when a small parade of professors entered her cubicle. Once again, the hospital wing held Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Dumbledore and well as Madam Pomfrey, and this time Hermione was awake to see it.

 

She chewed her lips and placed her mug of coffee onto the table as she tried to pull herself into a more elegant position on the bed. She’d remained propped up during the night (apparently for her breathing) and with a light above the bed (in case Madam Pomfrey needed to help her with a seizure). While she was feeling better than she had in awhile, and had slept soundly despite the notable lack of aid, she was still frizzy with bed hair, and dressed in pyjamas. She also felt clammy from sweating during the night.

 

“Good morning,” she greeted them warily.

 

Her head of house smiled kindly. “Good morning, dear. How are you feeling this morning?”

 

“Much better, Professor. Thank you.”

 

“Excellent!” Dumbledore clapped his hands cheerfully. “In that case, with Poppy’s approval, I would assume you may go back to Gryffindor tower soon. Rest today, and then back to classes tomorrow, I should think!”

 

“Albus!” The mediwitch snapped. “Unless you have your healer’s mastery, you can allow me to make the plans for Miss Granger’s discharge.”

 

Severus smirked. 

 

Hermione frowned at them, confused by their apparent battle of wills. “I feel fine, Madam Pomfrey, really.”

 

“You may  _ feel  _ fine, Miss Granger, but that’s not to say that you’ll be symptom free. I would prefer you to stay under observation for another 24 hours.”

 

“Poppy,” Minerva asked softly. “Were there any issues overnight?”

 

The healer sighed. “Everything was as well as could be expected overnight. She had two small seizures that I monitored, but she didn’t require any assistance with. Seizures should not be underestimated,” she added, glaring at the Headmaster. “Particularly in reference to patients in withdrawal from sedative drugs.”

 

“Can you not give her anything for seizures?” The Headmaster asked, twinkling charmingly at the unaffected witch.

 

“No I cannot! Miss Granger does not have a condition prone to causing seizures, and her body should have only the bare minimum of potion input for the time being. She will stay here, under my observation.”

 

Dumbledore’s face became serious, gaze flicking between his colleague and his student. Hermione stared him down, while Poppy looked furious. 

 

“This is not open for discussion, Headmaster.”

 

Albus nodded, and inclined his head towards Hermione. “I hope to see you looking better soon, Miss Granger.”

 

_ Hope to see me return to Gryffindor Tower, more like. _

 

“Thank you, Headmaster.”

 

He left slowly, in his usual calm manner, but Hermione saw the stiffness in his shoulders, and the slight clenching of his firsts. The two Professors that remained looked to Poppy, who gave them a few minutes to speak to Hermione should they wish, while she sorted through some paperwork and restocking duties.

 

“Is there anything you want to tell us, Miss Granger?”

 

She shook her head. “I believe Professor Dumbledore spoke to you?”

 

“Yes, dear. And I really am glad that this has come to our attention and you may begin your recovery here, in a safe place. Should you have too much difficulty adjusting, I’m sure we’ll be able to escort you to some support groups and such.”

 

Snape snorted. “Like the Headmaster would allow such a thing.”

 

“Severus, the girl needs help!”

 

“And Dumbledore needs to keep a good reputation of the school, or he will lose his position here.”

 

“Surely you can’t be suggesting that-”

 

“You know it as well as I do, Minerva. The public knowing about a drugs scandal at Hogwarts school? The addict being an ally of Potter’s no less? Faith, not only in Dumbledore, would wane quickly. Can you imagine the impact this would have, or are you as naive as most of your house?”

 

“Addict?” Hermione gasped, before realising that she had said the word out loud. Both Professors turned to look at her, McGonagall looking sad while Snape looked inquisitive. “I didn’t- I- I didn’t think that-”

 

“Of course Dumbledore told us, my dear,” Minerva spoke soothingly. “The more people who can help you, the better.”

 

“I think I need some rest.” Hermione smiled faintly, internally screaming with tumultuous emotion. 

 

“Please, do come to me if you need anything.”

 

“I will, thank you Professor.”

 

Minerva turned to Professor Snape, who waved her onwards. “I need just a quick word with Miss Granger, if you wouldn’t mind.”

 

She frowned, but went ahead. “I’ll be in my office, Severus.”

 

When the door closed, he looked the Hermione, eyes narrowing. “Is Dumbledore correct?”

 

“Sir?”

 

“Are you addicted, Miss Granger? Or is there another reason why you would take three doses in one night?”

 

Hermione swallowed. “Sir, I. I wasn’t intending to kill myself, if that’s what you mean.”

 

He arched a brow. “Now, where would you get the idea that suicide is what I meant?”

 

“Did-didn’t you?”

 

“No, Miss Granger. I am simply asking if there is another reason why. How long have you been taking it?”

 

“Since I came back to Hogwarts,” she whispered. “Things happened that I’d rather not dream of.”

 

He nodded. “I understand. You know of occlumency, I trust?”

 

“Yes, sir. Harry told me about his lessons.” She shifted nervously, looking to her hands. “I wouldn’t want…”

 

“I wouldn’t need to look at any of your memories, Miss Granger. That wouldn’t be the purpose of your occlumency at this stage?”

 

She frowned. “Then why did you with Harry?”

 

“He needed a short course, as it were.”

 

“How would this help me dreams?”

 

He took a seat. “If you clear your mind, as an occlumency practice, then success can have you either clearing your mind of conscious dreams, or simply guiding them into something less upsetting.”

 

“Are you sure this would work?” she asked hopefully.

 

He nodded. “I have, for periods of my life, required dreamless sleep myself. I find occlumency now to be far more effective and far less dangerous.”

 

“And you? You’d be willing to teach me?”

 

“I wouldn’t have brought up the subject if I wasn’t. I will let you know when we will begin, once you have recovered.” He inclined his head, and rose to leave.

 

“Professor!”

 

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

 

“The comments on my essay. Did you mean them?”

 

He scowled at her fiercely. “Every word. Innovation wouldn’t exactly kill you, and might save you from being a boring swot.”

 

She flushed. “I meant about the potions. If you’re not expecting them to work, why are you keeping hold of them? Shouldn’t we all brew them again?”

 

“The point of this potion isn’t success, Miss Granger. Hazard a guess as to why?”

 

She chewed her lip. “I guess there’s more value in knowing why something is done wrong, rather than just following directions to do something right.”

 

He nodded. “And when you each do your self evaluation of your potions, I expect you all to be able to analyse where you threw it out of the cauldron and into the fire. This is NEWT level work, Miss Granger, and anyone who receives a NEWT would be able to apply for a potions apprenticeship. I will not have anyone taking on sub-par students from Hogwarts School. Anyone who fails to meet my expectations, NEWT gained or not, will not be receiving a letter of recommendation. Not even if they gain an outstanding.”

 

She nodded. “Understood. Thank you, sir.”

 

He inclined his head once more, and billowed out of the Hospital Wing.

 

***

 

Hermione stayed two more nights in the infirmary, through Poppy’s sheer determination rather than Dumbledore’s permission. Minerva visited a couple of times more, and Ginny and Neville spent as much free time with her as possible. While Dumbledore spoke only to Poppy, Severus Snape did not appear to return at all, the only sign of his presence being a couple of recent journal publications that had been left on her bedside table the morning after their discussion of the felix felicis.

 

There was no note, of course, however Hermione knew that if Professor Snape was providing information, then she was expected to study it well. She would make sure she had gleaned everything possible from the two sources before returning to potions, and the journals to Snape. 

 

She took notes of the points of interest in each one, and circled areas that she would need to look into fully before he had a chance to question what she had gained from reading. It was this that led her to the library the afternoon that she was released from Poppy’s care. As usual, the library was mostly empty, only a couple of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs choosing to study there rather than take materials back to their dorms. 

 

She went to the potions section, and forewent any books that had been on the recommended reading list, as she had not only already consumed them, but she doubted that these would impress Professor Snape in any way, shape, or form. Other professors were delighted in her rounding out of the course content, but Severus Snape would expect all of his students to have studied them (not that anyone other than Hermione and Draco had). Instead, she looked for some of the more obscure texts, and focused on the newer ones, remembering his words on the older tomes. Having narrowed the selection down to a mere three that could be useful to her, she then went in search of journals. She had not spent much time in that area of the library in the past; no one had really spent time there. 

 

The shelves were clean, but untouched compared to the rest of the resources. Everything was perfectly neat, in order, and nothing was pulled out halfway as if hastily returned to its place. Hogwarts had a copy of every single issue of potions monthly, and Hermione pulled the 3 most recent ones from the shelf before squirelling herself away in a private corner. Hours passed without her realising, until the lamps had been lit, and she had filled almost a whole muggle notepad with colour coded and indexed notes. She gave each page a number as she passed it, updating her bibliography and index as she went. She was smiling grimly, and reaching for the final book in her pile when the Headmaster approached.

 

“Miss Granger, I would speak with you in my office, if you would.”

 

“Yes, sir.” 

 

She slowly gathered her texts together, sending the ones she had read back to their places, and taking the final book over to Madam Pince to check out. She woman eyed her suspicious, as she always did, as she stamped the book. She hated for books to be removed from the large room, and Hermione couldn’t really blame her.

 

She’d seen the state of Ron’s textbooks.

 

Picking up her bag and other items, she followed Albus Dumbledore from the room. He walked swiftly towards his office, not turning to make conversation with his companion. He gestured for her to ascend the staircase first, and then closed the door behind himself.

 

“I think we need to have a little chat, Miss Granger. Have a seat.”

 

She sat down warily, perched on the end of her seat with her bag tight in hand.

 

“Lemon drop?”

 

“No, thank you.”

 

He twinkled at her a moment longer, and the silence became uncomfortable. She swallowed. 

 

“Sir. Why did you tell them that I’m a drug addict?”

 

“Can you truthfully tell me you aren’t?”

 

“I’m not addicted.”

 

‘You’ve been taking it daily, in high dose. You had an overdose. You believe that the habit is entirely under your control.. Does that not seem like an addiction to you, Hermione?”   
  


She flinched. “It isn’t an addiction,  _ Headmaster _ . Simply a necessity at current.”

 

“A drug is always seen as a necessity to those who are addicted. As such, I shall ensure that you don’t have access to any further supply.”

 

“But you were the one to give me the supply that I had.”

 

He stroked his beard. “Did I? I don’t remember handing you such a thing. Of course, I am getting old, my dear…”

 

“It was in my room.”

 

“Ah. Must have been an oversight on my part.”

 

She flushed, angrily. “How could you even say such a thing without discussing it with me first?”

 

“Would you have rather I told them of the circumstances that brought you back to Hogwarts, Miss Granger? I have told them no lies, only omitted that which you wished to keep secret. Would you like them to be told?”

 

“No!” She yelped. “Absolutely not!”

 

He sighed. “Then you see why I’m in a bit of a bind, Miss Granger. There is no way I could explain what led to your use of the potion, without telling them the nature of your attack.”

 

She sneered. “Oh, so they wouldn’t believe that I’ve seen torture and murder? That I’ve almost faced death myself?”

 

“No, my dear. All of us believe you to be incredibly strong and mature for your age. It would have to be something incredibly drastic to affect  _ you _ , my dear. You’ve always been, I find, much more logical and level headed than your peers.”

 

She quieted then, sitting slightly straighter and wiping her eyes. She was the smart one. She was the logical one. She wasn’t prone to outbursts. She could control herself. She would control herself. A few breaths later, the Headmaster spoke.

 

“Now, would you like to know the purpose of our impromptu meeting?”

 

Hermione blinked. “It wasn’t to talk about the… incident?”

 

“No, my dear. I believe we agreed upon your arrival, that you would be doing some research to benefit the order and, most importantly, Harry.”

 

Harry. Of course. Most importantly Harry. She stiffened once more.

 

“Of course, if you don’t feel up to fighting for our cause, I can always find someone else to take on the duty, but I do have to admit that I hoped it would be you. You are one of the more intelligent members among us.”

 

“I’ll do it.” Hermione insisted. “I can do it, and I will. I will do whatever I can to help while at Hogwarts.”

 

“Excellent, my dear. I would like you start by reading a book. This book must be kept hidden from all other students, and you may use the chambers that you held during the holidays to study it at your leisure. This book is extremely rare, and cannot be found in the Hogwarts library. For now, I would like you to keep all information you gain from it to yourself.”

 

“I understand, Professor.”

 

He reached into a desk drawer, and removed a black leather book, with purple filigree. He handed it to her, and she placed it in her bag after reading merely the title: Secrets of the Darkest Art.

  
  



	8. Secrets from Potions Monthly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione begins her research in one area, while reaps the rewards in another.

The next morning Hermione had barely barreled down a coffee and a slice of toast before she rushed to what she still thought of as ‘her’ chambers. Everything was still as she had left it, with only the fresh bed sheets and plumped pillows to show the presence of a house elf in her rooms. She immediately headed for her text and took out the book, sticking a spare quill into her hair along with her wand. 

 

As per her usual methods, she immediately dove into the preface (she never could understand why people would skip it) and inked her quill to note down the points of interest. The book was old and obscure enough that there was sadly no forward offering the thoughts and additions of an intrigued academic, however she would have to make do with her own observations, and perhaps those of Dumbledore and Professor Snape. Dumbledore had suggested, or rather ordered, that she keep the information to herself, however if she could get her occlumency in place…

 

She chewed the quill in hand and immediately go to work on the archaic text. She translated as she went, recognising that the text was in Anglisc. With a sigh, she cast a translation spell on her quill.

 

_ Sé darkesta arta eart not to be considrad lihtíce. Sé prosyhssea and þeologiȝ contaènan in þia bōk recwuire a pùr hǽrt and grǽt intehyrtect to understand wiþút darkenning þe súl þrúh þe mra obserfning of suċ informæþeorc…  _

 

_ The Darkest Arts are not to be considered lightly. The processes and theology contained in this book require a pure heart and great intellect to understand without darkening the soul through the mere observing of such information… _

 

Hermione frowned, and bit a groove into the quill she held aloft before annotating her translation: Not originally meant as a guide for dark wizards? Academic rather than instructional?

 

_ Alþúh þia bōk scahyrt be usan aa a guide for þose sǣcyng þe answera to pòór and immortaleoré, feriȝ few of þese ċaptera contaèn prosyhssea þæt wihyrt not rendór þe súl destroyan. _

 

_ Although this book shall be used as a guide for those seeking the answers to power and immortality, very few of these chapters contain processes that will not render the soul destroyed.  _

 

That they knew as much of already, from the discovery of Voldemort’s horcruxes. This book, then, could possibly contain more information on horcruxes than they had been able to find anywhere else. She quickly finished her translation of the short introduction before flipping to the contents page and finding the chapter of greatest interest: 

 

Immortaleoré - Remofning þe súl from þe bodiȝ

 

Immortality - Removing the soul from the body.

 

The chapter was a very large portion of the book, and Hermione removed the quill and wand from her hair, leaving her notes and the open book in place as she rose to head to the library, finding that somehow an hour and a half had passed during her translation and absorbing of the introduction alone. 

 

The corridors were cold and empty as she made her way to the safe haven of knowledge. She nodded to Madam Pince, and quickly made her way to the languages section, and plucked out a book called  _ Translation spells for the modern Sorcerer.  _ She checked it out, ignoring the scowls and glares from the librarian, and promised to return her loaned books as soon as possible. 

 

The clock struck as she was leaving, infiltrating her mind with the sounds of students rushing out from their first lesson of the day. A buzz rushed through the student body, and Hermione hung back until the corridors had cleared, leaving only the older students to amble calmly to wherever they chose to spend their free period. Stares met her as she made her way back in the direction of her research space, and she hurried along, a flush coating her sallow cheeks.

 

“Hermione!” A familiar voice called, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she stilled. Neville and Ginny hurried towards her, faces frantic and eyes flitting in all directions around her as they pulled her into an empty classroom and warded the door.

 

“What is it?”

 

Ginny sighed, and the tension slid from her as she perched on a desk. “You’re okay then?”

 

“Yes,” Hermione frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

Neville coughed uncomfortably. “We heard why you were in the infirmary. Professor McGonagall told them not to tell, but Lavender…”

 

“Is Lavender.” The redhead finished his sentence. “She couldn’t wait to let everyone know why you were in the infirmary. Is it true?”

 

“Depends what you think is true.”

 

Ginny narrowed her eyes. “Lavender has been saying that you were hospitalised for a drug overdose. Is it true?”

 

“Well, yes.” Hermione whispered. “But it wasn’t deliberate.”

 

“Wasn’t deliberate that you took the drugs, or wasn’t deliberate that you overdosed?” Ginny’s tone was disapproving, and the expression that took over her features was one to rival her mother. “Explain yourself.”

 

Tears flooded the older girl’s eyes. “Both. The potion was dreamless sleep. I’ve been having nightmares ever since I returned, and I think the potion stopped working. I was desperate, and I took some extra to try and get rid of the horrors, but I took too much and work up in the infirmary.”

 

“Is it because of the attack?” Neville asked, and Hermione’s head whipped around to look at him in confusion.

 

“How do you know?” She asked softly. 

 

“Dumbledore’s Army,” he explained. “The coins still work, and when Fred and George were told about the attack, they arranged to meet us in the room of requirement. We asked the room for a safe place to meet them, where there wouldn’t be any danger from unwanted visitors. They entered through the Hog’s Head.”

 

“You know they were properly inducted into the Order,” Ginny added helpfully. “Dumbledore called a meeting to explain why you were here instead of with Harry.”

 

Hermione flinched. “How much detail did he give?”

 

“Next to none. Or nothing that Fred and George told us, anyway. They said that you needed to do some research for the Order, and that you had been attacked by MoldyWart. I don’t think they know what happened, exactly.”

 

Hermione nodded dumbly. “That’s good. That’s good. At least no one knows.”

 

“Do you think it might help to tell us?” asked Neville.

 

She shook her head as she began to cry fully. “No. I can’t. Please don’t ask.”

 

“It’s okay,” Ginny offered, and wrapped her friend in a tight hug. “When you’re ready, we’re here. But no more potions, okay?”

 

Hermione laughed bitterly. “The staff are under instruction to make sure I can’t get ahold of any, anyway. Last night I put silencing charms around my bed so I wouldn’t wake Parvati and Lavender.”

 

“Isn’t there anything else you can try?” Neville asked sadly. “Anything non-harmful?”

 

Hermione nodded. “I think so. It’ll take a while for me to learn how to do it though.”

 

Ginny released her friend with a grin. “If anyone can learn something new, it’s you! Smartest witch of your age, remember?”

 

This time, the words didn’t sting, and Hermione laughed as Ginny nudged her side. A weight was lifted, and she felt calm, true calm, in the presence of true friends.

 

***

 

Lunchtime was a difficult affair. Stares and whispers surrounded her from all four tables, only the Gryffindors being shut down by glares and comments from Neville and Ginny. The younger years were swiftly put in their place, and the older years seemed to exude pity rather than anything else. With her friends flanking her on each side, Hermione made it through the meal and the three of them left as soon as they had finished their food, heading towards the dungeons. The gryffindors stayed close together, chatting quietly before splitting off to their respective classes. 

 

“Granger,” a familiar drawl called. “Looks like you’re alone here.”

 

“What do you want, Malfoy?” she hissed defensively. He rose his hands and approached her slowly.

 

“Just to see if you’re okay.”

 

“Why do you care?”

 

He frowned. “There’s a lot of talk going around, and you’re here by yourself. With the price on your head, so to speak, it wouldn’t be safe alone anyway.”

 

“Price on my head?”

 

He sighed. “With you separated from your friends, there are some people who would rather take you away from Hogwarts, if you catch my drift. And now, with the rumours of your hospital stay-”

 

“Why do you care, Draco?”

 

He shrugged. “You’ve been my classmate for over six years. Is it so unlikely that I’d want to check you’re okay?”

 

“You’ve never given a shit before.”

 

“I’ve never seen you alone before.”

 

“So, what? You now think you can draw me in with you and your stupid death eater buddies?” she snapped.

 

“25 points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger,” Snape growled menacingly. “I expect much better conduct from you.”

 

She flushed. “I’m sorry Professor, Malfoy.”

 

He inclined his head. “You two will be working together today. Hopefully that will help you to sort out your juvenile differences. If not… then I guess your potion should take care of the both of you.”

 

Both of them gulped, and entered the dungeon at the wave of Severus Snape’s hand. Draco went towards his usual desk, Hermione following forlornly and taking out her textbook.

 

“I’m sorry, Malfoy. I know that Slytherins aren’t inherently evil.”

 

“It’s okay, Granger. I know Gryffindors have a hideous temper.” He smirked at her, and Hermione felt the corners of her mouth twitch, even as a voice inside her head screamed at the wrongness of the situation.

 

Snape put all of the students into pairs as they entered the classroom, mixing the houses as much as possible before flicking his wand at the chalkboard.

 

“Today, we’ll be creating Veritaserum. Since the lot of you should be intelligent enough to actually  _ read _ your textbooks, we won’t be discussing the potions beforehand. You’ll need to simply make sure you prepare the potion correctly, or you’ll be finding yourselves quite truthful in the time to come. Unless you feel like spilling your innermost secrets, you’ll have to make sure to avoid your usual levels of stupidity,” he sneered at them, and the whole class took on an expression of wide eyes and pale faces. “You may begin.”

 

The class barely moved into action, each pair looking to each other and mumbling among themselves. Only Hermione and Draco made a move to begin the potion, the other students watching them as they set up their cauldron. 

 

“So, think a bubblehead charm should protect us from the fumes?” Draco asked.

 

Hermione frowned. “It should do, but I’d think that to be unecessary…”

 

“Why? Feel like sharing your darkest secrets with me, Granger?”

 

She snorted. “Like I want to hear yours. I have enough nightmares as it is.”

 

“Then why don’t you want to use the charm?” he asked, and Hermione almost laughed at the confusion on his face. 

 

“The ingredients separately aren’t going to cause us problems, Malfoy.”

 

“So? Unless you know at which point it becomes an issue, we should use the charm for the whole process…”

 

She smirked. “The base of the potion is also the base for the antidote. If we make double the amount of the base, we can then seperate half into a separate cauldron and brew the antidote simultaneously. We’ll need to instead place a barrier over the veritaserum cauldron to prevent the fumes mixing, but if any slips out, then we’ll have the antidote on hand anyway.”

 

Draco frowned. “Then why not just make the veritaserum with the barrier? Much less work.”

 

“Well, if we can protect our cauldron from hitting us-”

 

“We might not be able to stop the rest of the potions,” Draco finished with a nod. “And if we let the fumes from the antidote free, it should weaken the effects of anyone who hasn’t protected theirs.”

 

“Yup. Plus, the potion is weak until it has matured. So the fumes from the antidote should make it so that the effects of the veritaserum are easily resisted.”

 

Draco grinned. “You know, you’re pretty smart, Granger.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“But…” he smirked. “I also have an idea.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“As you said, the Veritaserum takes a long time to mature - a full lunar cycle, if I remember correctly. If we simply strengthen the antidote, and allow it to produce more fumes, everyone should be protected even if someone’s cauldron explodes.”

 

Hermione nodded. “Veritaserum has some similar effects as a high dose of adrenaline. To counteract faster, I suppose one way would be to use a sort of vasodilator to slow down the progress of the serum being distributed around the body.”

 

“Vasodilator?”

 

“A muggle word for causing the blood vessels to kind of expand rather than shrink, so blood pressure lowers.”

 

Draco scowled. “And how exactly do you propose we get hold of it here, Granger? And how do we know it won’t fuck up the antidote?”

 

A textbook hit him on the back of the head. “Five points from Slytherin for language, Mister Malfoy.” Snape glared at the two of them before heading to another pair.

 

“Garlic is a natural vasodilator,” Hermione murmured. “Ginger could also be useful as it’s used in Wit Sharpening Potion.”

 

Draco nodded. “At least these are familiar to wizards of proper breeding,” he said haughtily. “I suppose they shouldn’t damage the potion integrity either.”

 

His lab partner smiled. “If we reduce the amount of knotgrass it should be alright. We don’t want the ingredients bound together too tightly, or the fumes won’t release. We also don’t need it to help preserve it, as the addition of the two should help with the shelf life once the potion has stabilised. Ginger is a natural preservative.”

 

Draco grabbed some ginger and garlic from his kit. “Let’s get going.”

 

As the rest of the class poked and prodded their potions with either a bubblehead charm or makeshift mask in place, Hermione and Draco buzzed with excitement as their two cauldrons worked together as intended. They finished first, and decanted both potions into bottles to take up to the front of the class. 

 

Snape sneered at them. “Overachieving? Or perhaps, trying to? I sincerely hope that for both of your sakes the quality of your potion hasn’t been sacrificed in your quest for glory.”

 

His two students shared a look.

 

“Shall I assume that the second potion was your idea, Miss Granger.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“10 points from Gryffindor,” he snapped. “And what have you done to this antidote? It’s looking rather off-colour to me. You’re lucky it didn’t explode.”

 

“We adapted it to produce more potent fumes, sir.” Draco said proudly.

 

“Oh?” Snape sniffed the vials. “Who decided that shoving ginger into it was the way to go, instead of simply following instructions?”

 

“Hermione,” Draco said. “But it was my fault, I decided we should try and-”

 

“Detention, Miss Granger. I expect you here at 7 o’clock this evening. You’re both dismissed.”

 

Draco offered a muttered apology as they left the room, but Hermione brushed it off with a smile. 

 

Occlumency lessons were about to begin.

  
  



	9. The Unprotected Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Occlumency begins!

Chapter Nine - The Unprotected Mind

 

When Hermione knocked on the door to the potions classroom at precisely five minutes to seven, she was met with a scowl and a raised eyebrow. 

 

“Clearly, you don’t understand the true meaning of punctuality.”

 

“But I’m early!”

 

“Yes, yes you are. I’d have thought you, with your head constantly in a book, would be able to understand the word ‘punctual’ better than your imbecilic peers. Come in.”

 

Hermione slid through the open door, and was surprised to see a smirk on her teacher’s face as she turned back towards him.

 

“Punctual, Miss Granger, means  _ at the proper or agreed time. _ ”

 

“I’ll take that under advisement,” she shot back, sitting at her usual desk.

 

“How are you feeling this evening?”

 

“Sir?”

 

He sighed, and ran a finger through his limp hair. “I asked how you are feeling. Answer me honestly.”

 

“I’m feeling confused, and slightly irritated at your pedantic comments upon my arrival.” She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze head on. Her eyes dark and eyebrows creased.

 

“Good. How are you feeling now that you’ve said that to me?”

 

“Concerned about Gryffindor’s house points.” 

 

At this he chuckled, and the brunette couldn’t help but stare. “Shut your mouth or you’re going to catch flies,” he snapped, returning to his usual  composure.

 

“Sir? Why are you asking this? It’s not like you usually care about the emotions of students.”

 

“Interesting that you’d think that, Miss Granger,” Snape murmured. “But you are correct; generally the menial worries of academically stunted teenagers do not interest me in the slightest. You, sadly, are currently an exception.”

 

He perched on his large desk at the front of the room, crossing his ankles and leaning back on his palms for support. 

 

“Occlumency depends very much on your ability to bring your mind into a complete state of calm, where you are able to combine both your logical thoughts, and your emotions together to form a state that muggles would call the ‘wise mind’. Muggles, however, would use this as a tool to bring forth and study past traumas or experiences to prevent a very inelegant lashing out at others about how life...isn’t…  _ fair. _ ” His lip curled, and his head fell forward slightly. “To an extent, this is true for occlumency as well, however eventually you will use in a different manner. Where therapeutically you’d use this to unpack baggage, when it comes to protecting the mind, you need to be able to compartmentalise feelings and experiences so that they do not interrupt a stoic mind and exterior. Once you gain experience in this, you will be able to remove all traces of a memory from your mind if you wish to keep it hidden, to lie without any tell, or to experience greatly violent events while retaining your sanity.”

 

“I take it Bellatrix Lestrange isn’t a great Occlumens, then.”

 

He smirked. “You are quite right. Bella has always been quick to fly off the handle, so to speak.”

 

“So you’re bringing my emotions to the surface so that I can try and box them away?” she asked slowly.

 

“At this point, no. Firstly, I would like you to confront the trauma and betrayal that you are feeling, to understand why you are feeling the way that you are. Only once you understand what has happened will you be able to put it away without it suddenly bursting free of its box to plague you with depression and fear. Often, the repression is a form of defense for people who have been abused as you have, and it almost always makes it harder to heal.”

 

Hermione scowled. “I thought you were going to teach me to control my nightmares. And I never said anything about abuse.”

 

“You didn’t have to,” he told her. “You have no defenses in place, and without even looking into your mind I can see the signs of trauma. I know that you weren’t attacked by Death Eaters, Miss Granger, despite the story that Dumbledore has told the Order. I know that you are loyal and brave - traits of your house. I also know that you’ve protected your parents, so you haven’t suffered a loss of them. In fact, the only people who possibly could have contributed to your return to Hogwarts would be Misters Potter and Weasley, unless you happen to have been accosted by a random wizard on your travels. Or even a muggle?” 

 

He clearly knew the answer already, but Hermione wasn’t about to give in. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she focused her gaze behind his head, eyeing the cold grey of the stone walls, and the smudges of chalk on the board that never seemed to be completely clean. She shivered, and pulled her robe tighter around herself, wishing that she had left her hair down to hide her face. “You don’t know what happened, so stop guessing.”

 

He leaned towards her, and waited until she met his eyes once more. “I am very sure that my guesses hit the mark, Miss Granger. You’ve become much more tense throughout our interaction and you look ready to sob at any moment. I should warn you, I do not take kindly to being snotted over,” he sneered, “but I do happen to have a handkerchief should you need a moment to compose yourself.”

 

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

 

“If you say so.” 

 

“I don’t want to talk about it, if that’s where this is going.”

 

He snorted and straightened up. “I don’t expect you to. Not only would I rather detest hearing it, but I have been led to understand that I am not the most  _ sympathetic _ of teachers here. If you want to wax lyrical about your woes, I suggest you go to your head of house.”

 

“Then why are you asking, if you don’t want to know?” she hissed sharply. “Why don’t we just get on with the lesson?”

 

“Because, regardless of details, you need to admit. What. Happened.”

 

“Why do you care?”

 

“I don’t, Miss Granger. But to teach you occlumency, you must admit it. I can assume you haven’t told anyone other than Dumbledore?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

He nodded to himself. “I understand. Most victims of sexual assault never come forward.”

 

She gasped. “How did you? Did you look in my mind? How  _ dare _ you! I  _ trusted  _ you. I-”

 

“Calm down, Miss Granger,” he ordered firmly. “I neither looked in your mind, nor found out from other sources. I merely had a hunch, one that you’ve been kind enough to confirm.”

 

“You had no right!” She sobbed, and her Professor sighed before handing her the aforementioned hankie.

 

“All is fair in love and war, Miss Granger. And this is war.”

 

She sniffled, blowing her nose. She paused for a moment to think, and then nodded slowly. “I understand. Thank you for helping me, Professor Snape.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

She held onto the handkerchief, folding it delicately before offering it back to him, secretly grateful when he waved her hand away. It smelled soothing, partly of the lab and what she assumed to be her professor, and slightly of lavender oil that he’d likely applied to aid himself in getting rid of weepy teenage witches as quickly as possible. 

 

“How did you happen to have a hunch?” She asked meekly. “Is it something I’m doing, or not doing?”

 

He sighed. “You’ve been having nightmares that required you to take dangerous amounts of potions. I’ve seen you flinch at the mention of your former companions and, if you’ll recall, I told you about my own experiences of taking dreamless sleep.”

 

“You’ve- you’ve been?”

 

“Yes, Miss Granger. And if that ever leaves this room, then you can expect to die a very, very horrible death.”

 

One look at his face, and she didn’t doubt it for a moment. “I would never tell anyone.”

 

“Good.”

 

She sighed. “So what happens now?”

 

“You need to face the events,” he told her, putting up a hand to prevent her interrupting. “Not by talking to me, or showing me. I want you to simply sit and write what you can about what happened and how you felt about it. I will not read it, no one will be shown it, and you may burn it afterwards if you wish. You don’t need to write everything in one sitting. If you only want to write two lines before it is overwhelming, then that is very much okay. I will be in my office when you are finished, and you can come and join me. If you simply want to go back to your common room, then you may, but I ask that you come and let me know first.”

 

“Okay,” she whispered. “I think I can do that.”

 

He rose to his feet, and immediately made his way to the room next to the store cupboard. “I shall leave my door open.”

 

She’d barely managed a paragraph when she had to stop, crying softly with her head resting on her arms. Tears smudged the parchment, causing the ink to run, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The dungeons felt colder than ever, and a hole seemed to agonizingly open up inside her as she thought through what she had written, allowing feelings instead of flashbacks to overtake her. 

 

_ “During our camping trip, the horcrux started to affect us more and more. One night, I woke up to find Harry on top of me, pushing himself on me. I was immediately afraid. I tried to fight him. I lost the fight. I felt weak, dirty. I felt broken. My body felt broken, but also my trust and my mind. I hated myself. I hate myself. I wasn’t able to stop him, one boy that was my friend. If I can’t look after myself in a situation with such equal footing, how am I supposed to fight in a group? I want to be as I was before it happened. I want to feel whole again, and brave enough to fight. I know now that I am weak, easily overpowered. I know now that I am not good enough. I don’t think I will ever be good enough for anyone. The people who are my friends now, are only my friends because they don’t know what happened. Soon, I will be all alone.” _

 

She read it through twice before crushing it into a ball, still sobbing, and setting the parchment alight, watching the flames burn in front of her. Her chair squeaked as she stood, but Professor Snape was looking at book when she knocked on his office door.

 

“Would you like to come in?” he asked.

 

“Yes. Please.” Her voice was hoarse from crying, and she knew that her face would be a state. “Can I wait to go up to the common room? I don’t want people to ask questions.”

 

“That, Miss Granger, is precisely why I offered. Have a seat.”

 

She sat down gratefully, thanking him when he handed her a cup of tea without asking. She sipped it slowly, feeling a great appreciation for the man who returned to his book instead of holding her under scrutiny. 

 

“I think this has helped me. Thank you.”

 

He could have asked what for - the conversation, the writing exercise, the cup of tea. Instead, he merely smiled at her. “You’re welcome. Thank you for reading the journals I left. The work from you and Mister Malfoy today is the only time I’ve ever felt truly tempted to give an ‘Outstanding’. I expect the good work to continue.”

 

He went back to his book, and Hermione smiled softly. She recognised a polite dismissal when she saw one, and went back up to her common room full of thoughts about her rather contrary, Jekyll and Hyde Professor.

  
  



	10. Helpful Snakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione receives a little extra help in translating an old text.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I noticed that I hadn't kept well to the timeframe particularly well. To clear things up - Hermione is brought to the hospital wing on Wednesday, and is released on Saturday morning. She is looked after by Minerva until Sunday afternoon, and the potions lesson/occlumency lesson takes place on the Monday. She has potions on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. Happy reading - Anna <3

“So how was your detention with Snape?” Ginny immediately accosted her when she entered the common room. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

 

“I’d take a ghost over Professor Snape anyday,” Neville put in. “He is terrifying.”

 

“He’s not that bad, guys,” Hermione sighed tiredly. “It was just quite tiring is all.”

 

“What did he have you doing?” the redhead asked.

 

“Just writing, mostly. We also talked a bit about the potions I made with Draco.”

 

Ginny snorted. “I still can’t believe you worked with the ferret.”

 

“Professor Snape paired us together, Gin.”

 

“I know… but it’s still weird, you know? It’s Malfoy.”

 

“He actually makes a pretty good lab partner.” Hermione flopped onto an empty sofa, her friends quickly joining her in front of the fire. “He’s got some good ideas.”

 

“Maybe that’s why he paired you two together,” Neville mused. “He’s probably going to try and get you two to work on a research project together.”

 

Ginny pretended to gag. “Ewwwww, no thanks! Imagine working with both Snape and Malfoy. Out of class, no less!”

 

Hermione frowned. “I don’t think it would be a bad thing. I do enjoy potions.”

 

“You must literally be the only Gryffindor to ever say that, Mione.”

 

“She’s right. Extra time with Professor Snape, on top of normal time with him?” Neville shuddered. “No thanks.”

 

Hermione shrugged. “It’s not like he’s actually suggested a project, anyway. I don’t think he’s ever taken on a project with a student before, so it’s not a concern.”

 

Ginny pulled open a textbook that had been placed on the armrest. “Okay. In that case, you can both help me with charms. I’m all over the place.”

 

Two two older students moved closer to peer at her textbook.

 

“Age lines?” Hermione asked. “I don't remember us learning that.”

 

“We didn’t,” Neville confirmed. “Flitwick has always had us using spells that are practical in day to day life.”

 

“Professor Flitwick, Nev,” Hermione corrected absentmindedly. “Maybe he thinks that it _will_ be practical?”

 

He blushed and shrugged. “I don’t understand what for.”

 

Hermione frowned. “Are you creating them to only allow people in above a certain age?”

 

“Nope. To only allow people in below a certain age.”

 

“Ah. Then that’ll be why.”

 

The other two shared a look. “Want to explain that, Mione?” Ginny asked.

 

“Well, if it is to keep people above a certain age out, then it can be used to only hold people in who are below the age of seventeen. It means that if a safe space is created, then no one of age will be able to enter. It would be able to keep anyone below the age of majority safe.”

 

Her friends lit up. “That’s genius!” the redhead grinned. “Tough luck to you two, but this is really useful.”

 

Hermione frowned. “Doesn’t explain why 7th years aren’t being taught it, though.”

 

“It makes sense though, doesn’t it?” Neville coughed and flushed. “I mean, seventh years are old enough to take part fighting in anything that happens. Plus, with age magic, isn’t it best if it’s cast by someone that it would be attuned to?”

 

“Yes, Neville! It’ll be more powerful if cast by someone who actually is the right age to be behind it!”

 

Excitement ricocheted between them, wide smiles lighting up their faces. “So how do you want us to help you, Gin?”

 

“Well, I can’t cast one.”

 

“Have you been practicing?” Neville asked. “It’s got to be difficult to cast with so many people around. And most the people here wouldn’t be affected by it anyway.”

 

His friend smirked. “That’s where you two come in. If I can cast it to keep you two out, then that would be a definite success. Come with me.”

 

Neville and Hermione followed as Ginny jumped to her feet, grabbing only her wand and textbook and leading them out of the portrait hole.

 

“Ginny…” Neville croaked. “Should we really be out of the common room now?”

 

“No, you should not.” A silky voice spoke from the shadows. “10 points from Gryffindor. Each.”

 

“I’m sorry, Professor Snape,” Hermione said sincerely. “We didn’t realise it was after curfew.”

 

“It isn’t,” the teacher scowled. “But that doesn’t mean that you should be out of your common room. And after the detention that you’ve just had, Miss Granger… it seems that it may take a little more to Hammer. This. Home. You’ve earned yourself another detention. Thursday.”

 

He swept off, and the Gryffindors headed back inside the tower.

 

“Blimey, Mione!” Neville stammered. “I’m sorry you’ve got another detention, I knew we shouldn’t be going out there, and-”

 

“Hush, Nev. It isn’t your fault.” Hermione soothed him. “He’s probably just in a bad mood from spending his evening with one of his idiotic students.”

 

The boy laughed slightly. “But now you’ve got to spend more time with him…”

 

“And I don’t really mind.” Neville gave her a confused look, but Ginny smirked and patted her on the back.

 

“Better him than the Carrows, any day.  We haven’t been able to spend much time with you, though. We went to the hospital wing on Saturday and Sunday…”

 

At which point Hermione remembered that she had Dark Arts the next day, and excused herself to get some sleep, ignoring the look Ginny sent her way.

 

***

 

In truth, she had spent the weekend in the care of Professor McGonagall. The moment that Poppy had, under Dumbledore’s complaints, released Hermione up to Gryffindor tower, she had been snapped up by her head of house, who kept a close eye on her during her stay during the day and Saturday night. Madam Pomfrey, clearly aware, had provided Minerva with some potions ‘just in case’ and the older woman had provided Hermione with persistent cooling charms and damp flannels as she burned up and sweated out. Finally, on Sunday afternoon she’d been brought back to the hospital wing, having one more check over by the mediwitch before she’d headed off on her library excursion, only to be caught by Dumbledore and his need to be omnipotent.

 

The day she’d just had, the Monday, had seemed to last a week in comparison to the way time had passed during her recovery. Tuesday morning she woke covered in sweat for another reason, her scalp burning and throat sore from the nightmares that had resurfaced in such full force that it knocked her to her knees. The journal next to her was crumpled, ripped in places where she’d written her entry into it before bed.

 

_This is the journal of Hermione Jean Granger. Following today’s session with Professor Snape, I have determined that his suggestion was correct - I shall write about what has happened to me in an effort to understand it better and to aid in my studies of occlumency. Upon my next visit to Hogsmead, I shall search out books on the following:_

 

 

  * __Occlumency__


  * _Legilimency_


  * _‘Wise mind’??_


  * _Meditation_


  * _Recovery from trauma_



 

_Note to self: do not look for these books in the library; don’t lead people to ask questions._

 

_Notes from today’s session: I am still feeling fragile, vulnerable. The feelings brought to the surface today are the most painful, sickening things I’ve ever experienced, but at Professor Snape’s suggestion, I shall not hide them away. Instead, I shall allow myself to feel them, to suffer. I deserve to suffer, to stop elevating myself above the events. I can find out what I did wrong. I can teach myself to do better…_

 

She frowned as she read the words that she had written. Did she mean that? Did she believe that she needed to do better, to atone for what had happened? How did she know what was right?

 

_You know, Hermione. You know that Harry wouldn’t do such a thing without it being your fault. Harry is a hero, you’ve seen all of the good that he has done. Stop kidding yourself._

 

A quick flick of her wand told her the time, 5am. It was becoming a habit for her, and she was much too afraid to return to slumber. The flashbacks were bad enough, but the dreams. The dreams were her own personal form of masochism.

 

She dressed for the day and disillusioned herself for the journey to her rooms. She didn’t come across anyone, but her skin prickled with the reminder from her Potions Professor the night before, as well as the odd conversation she had had with Draco Malfoy. It wasn’t safe for her to be wandering the halls alone, and as many precautions as she could take the better.

 

Finally she reached the door to her chambers and reached for the handle with her left hand, as she’d been instructed to before. She pointed her wand, and gave her newest password - she had changed it upon her re-entry to the rooms.

 

_Refuge._

 

The door opened near silently, and she closed it behind her with a small click, flicking the fire alight wordlessly, and lighting the candles around the room. The fireplace was already prepared, with spare wood in a large bin beside it, likely placed there by Spiffy.

 

She called the elf to her, and apologised for the time of day.

 

“That’s quite alright, Missy Granger!” he chirped cheerfully. “Us elves are always up by 5:30 - we prepare breakfast for 7am, so that there is food ready. Some of the Professors are also early risers.”

 

The disillusionment was certainly a good idea then.

 

“How can I help you, Missy?”

 

She smiled at the small elf. “Could I have a pot of tea and some toast please, Spiffy? And, if you could, some lavender oil or candles or such?”

 

He blinked. “Breakfast and something lavender scented, coming right up!”

 

He vanished with a pop, and when he returned a moment later, Hermione was already seated at her desk, quill in hand.

 

“Thank you Spiffy. I hope you have a lovely day.”

 

The elf blushed. “You too, Missy Granger. Please call me if you need anything else.”

 

_‘Pop!’_

 

She grabbed the old text, as well as the book of translation spells, and settled onto the sofa with her breakfast. The lavender came in the form of an oil diffuser, which she placed by the slightly open window to waft around the living area.

 

The first three quarters of the book were incredibly unhelpful, focusing on translation to other modern languages, but the final chapters proved promising, holding information pertaining to many ancient languages, including Greek, Hebrew, Persian, Sanskrit, Tamil, Latin and various indigenous languages that had long since become extinct. Finally, a chapter on various stages in the evolution of English.

 

Anglisc.

 

‘Beswâpan linguam’. She frowned, recognising ‘linguam’ as ‘language’. Knowing some parts of languages from readings and education, she could deduce the latin part easily. She cast the usual charm onto her quill and wrote out the first word.

 

‘Comprehend’.

 

Okay. So ‘understand the language’. She frowned. That did not seem remotely specific to Anglisc, in fact the only link was the word ‘beswâpan’. The wand movements were different for each intention - reading, writing, listening, speaking. She focused on the wand movements for reading, and then used a regular quill to copy a small passage onto a blank piece of parchment to practice on.

 

“Beswâpan linguam,” she tried, flourishing her wand from her temple to the text in front of her, tapping it lightly with her wand tip. Nothing happened.

 

“Beswâpan linguam.” Nothing. She sighed. It was a complex spell, and she couldn’t expect to grasp it immediately. Nethertheless, after a good fifty additional attempts, she was fuming and almost shouting the words, jabbing the parchment furiously until she was interrupted by a knock on her door.

 

She hurried to answer it, expecting it to be the Headmaster, and was instead surprised to see a dour, disgruntled Professor Snape who entered without permission.

 

“You’re doing it wrong.”

 

“I’m sorry. I thought the rooms in this corridor were soundproofed.”

 

“They are. Unfortunately, it would seem that we both prefer to keep a window open.”

 

She flushed. “I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

 

He shot her a look. “If I weren’t already awake, you would be having a much. Worse. Visit. From me this morning, Miss Granger. As it is, you merely interrupted my first coffee of the day, which is a crime in and of itself.”

 

“Would you like some coffee now?” she asked, mentally berating herself for speaking to her teacher with such familiarity. She was shocked when he inclined his head.

 

“If you’re going to continue shouting in such a manner, I would think that wise.”

 

10 minutes later, they had both sipped at the coffee Spiffy brought them, and Hermione was showing her frustration at the text.

 

“It doesn’t even seem specific to Anglisc!” she complained. “Look at the wording of it!”  


“Since when does the phrasing of a spell make up for the intent?” he asked her. “Do you honestly believe all of the dunderheads in your classes understand the roots of the incantations that they use?”

 

She scowled. “But they are specific! They describe accurately the purpose of the spell!”

 

“And a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. You’re completely missing the point of the words that accompany a spell.”

 

“But wandless magic isn’t even taught until sixth year!” she snapped. “And it can only be used for spells that have already been mastered!”

 

“Do you honestly believe that simply words and wand movements make up the body of a spell? Do you believe that anyone could see only the name and movement of a spell and be able to cast it without demonstration?”

 

“It’s worked for me before! I always practice ahead of classes, so that I’m prepared, and-”

 

“And the textbook always tells you what the spell is intended for, and the mechanisms and uses of it.” He scowled into his mug. “Why do you choose this early in the morning to show your stupidity?”

 

“I am not stupid,” she hissed. “And I know what I’m trying to do - I’m trying to translate this parchment.”

 

He frowned at the paper. “You’re trying to translate something that you have written yourself? Do you make a habit of writing things down that you don’t understand?”

 

“I understand this passage,” she replied, calming slightly. “I’m simply using it to practice the spell before I use it to translate a whole book.”

 

“What should happen when you cast the spell, Miss Granger?”

 

“It should translate the text, Professor.”

 

“What are you thinking while you cast?”

 

“I’m focusing on the parchment showing the correct words instead.”

 

He nodded. “Is that all that you’ve tried?”

 

“If you have any other suggestions, then be my guest.”

 

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Try casting it with your eyes shut, focusing on _understanding_ rather than seeing the parchment change contents. Without shouting, if you don’t mind - I’d rather not go into first year potions with a migraine.”

 

On the fifth attempt, when her discomfort and having her eyes closed around the man waned, she succeeded, and cheered happily. “Yes! Do you see this, Professor?”

 

“No, Miss Granger, and that is the point. Translation spells do not alter the original text, simply allow you to _comprehend_ the text as it is.”

 

“That’s brilliant!”

 

“Indeed,” he cocked an eyebrow. “And now if I may continue my morning without the grating sound of your voice…”

 

“Sir?”

 

He scowled.

 

“Why are you so different outside of class?” she flushed. “I just mean, I mean, you’re a very good teacher, and-”

 

“Miss Granger,” he cut in. “I like teaching those who actually _want_ to learn. Therefore children, particularly dunderheads, irritate me.”

 

He swept out, leaving a smirk on the young woman’s face as she applied her newly found spell to the ancient book.

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the anonymous reviewer who has corrected my latin from 'in lingua' to 'linguam'. Now to find someone who speaks old english... <3


	11. Knowledge shared is punishment doubled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione experiences the joy that is two Carrows in one day, and discovers something interesting about her Potions professor.

She’d decided to read the first chapter of the book - the basics of the dark arts - before moving on to Horcruxes and soul magic. She managed to get through half of the chapter before her clock told her that it was 8:30 and she should hurry to the great hall, lest her friends think she’d vanished or been returned to the hospital wing. 

 

She couldn’t help but look up at the head table as she entered, her eyes quickly finding the scowling face of Professor Snape. She pushed down both the grin that threatened to spring forth, as well as the very unwelcome impulse to wave at the man.

 

_ Good one, Hermione. Are you looking for trouble? It’s not like he’s at all friendly to you anyway, so don’t kid yourself. Useless chit. _

 

Her mood considerably dampened, she took her usual seat and grabbed a mug of coffee. She noticed Ginny’s pointed glare at her empty plate and shook her head.

 

“Don’t worry about me, Ginny. I’ve been up for a few hours, and asked a house elf to bring me some food.”

 

Neville dropped his toast. “You? The founder of SPEW?”

 

“More importantly, where were you?”

 

“I was doing some research, so I went-”

 

“To the library,” they chorused, in such an eerily familiar way that she felt sick and pushed her mug away. 

 

“And what is so bad about that?” she snapped.

 

“Nothing! The library is great!” Neville backtracked.

 

“Just not this early in the morning,” Ginny shuddered. “I can’t think of anything worse to wake up early for.”

 

She sighed. “I’m still having difficulty sleeping.”

 

The pair wore matching expressions of contrition. “Sorry, Mione,” Ginny murmured.  “I should have thought before speaking.”

 

Hermione gave a wan smile. “Don’t worry about it. You can’t tiptoe around me.”

 

“Bet Neville could,” the redhead grinned. “Very light footed, our Neville. Bet he could sneak around anything if he wanted to.”

 

“Everything except Dark Arts and Muggle Studies,” he moaned mournfully. 

 

His other friend frowned. “Since when do you take Muggle Studies, Neville?”

 

“Oh! It’s compulsory now, ‘Mione. Have you looked at your timetable?”

 

She pulled it from her bag, her brow creasing as she took in the day’s classes. Where last week her Tuesday had held Transfiguration, Arithmancy and Dark Arts, this week she didn’t begin the day with a free period. Where, last week, her timetable had shown a blank, this week it held the room and teacher of Muggle Studies. 

 

“I was just going to test with the rest of my NEWTs,” she sighed. “Being muggleborn, I didn’t really think I’d need to be in the classes.”

 

“Well now everyone does,” Ginny jabbed her in the ribs. “Once a fortnight unless it’s one of your electives, so you can help me and Nev here with our assignments.”

 

“I would’ve helped you anyway.”

 

“We won’t need as much help as if the class was taught properly,” Neville muttered. “After all, Carrow just seems to like chucking the word ‘mudblood’ around wherever she can. You’re going to absolutely hate her, Hermione.”

 

Ginny snorted. “Yup. Just like the rest of us.”

 

“Anyway, if you’ve got it first period, then you’re with me,” Neville told her. “We should leave as soon as the bell goes. Never want to be the first one in there with Carrow.”

 

It seemed the majority of their class had the same idea, roughly half of the seventh years arriving outside of the classroom in tandem. The Slytherins were huddled in a group, laughing in a way that shot a shiver of fear through their muggleborn classmate. They eyed her up, brushing past her as they entered the room first.

 

“Bet you can’t wait to learn all about your filthy kind,” Parkinson sang. 

 

_ Filthy. Your blood. You. _

 

Hermione’s hand went to her left arm, scratching subconsciously as she followed closely behind her friend. 

 

Neville picked a table in the corner at the back, Muggle Studies being one of the few classes with a large group of students. 

 

Their pig-faced teacher strolled in a couple of minutes later, a piece of toast in one hand and a mug in the other, slamming the door shut behind her in a manner that was likely an attempt to emulate Professor Snape. In reality, Hermione thought, it came across as a child throwing a tantrum.

 

“Good morning, class.”

 

There were a few murmured ‘Good morning’s from the Slytherins, while the rest of the room remained silent.

 

“Who would like to start today?”

 

Hermione frowned, and looked to her right. Neville shook his head and reached for a piece of parchment.

 

_ She always begins class by asking one person to tell us what they think about muggles. _

 

Around half of the Slytherins had their hands in the air, but some students from other houses also seemed keen to provide their input. Hermione shrank back into her chair, grabbing her quill and parchment as if she were about to take notes.

 

“Miss Parkinson?”

 

Pansy rose to her feet and cleared her throat. “Leading on from our last session, about greatness leading to lies, I’ve been thinking about the lies spouted by mudbloods.”

 

Carrow smiled a nasty smile. “Very good, Pansy. Would you be able to elaborate?”

 

“ Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies. Mudbloods lie about their source of magic so that they can weave their way into our society and destroy our culture and nobility.”

 

“You’ve remembered well, Miss Parkinson. You may sit down.”

 

Alecto placed down her mug and walked between the rows of desks, tapping her wand against the palm of her hand. “Yes, the Muggle-Born Registration Commission exist for the purpose and registering and researching mudbloods. They are cunning, and we have so far been able to find out how they have stolen the magic that they hold. One theory is that for every mudblood is a squib - a true sorcerer that has been robbed of their inheritance, and left vulnerable. Why do you think it’s taking so long to register all muggleborns and find the source of their magic?”

 

Blaise raised his hand. “Yes,Mister Zabini?”

 

“Because some of them have gone into hiding, and others are lying about their blood status, Professor. They’re trying to hide amongst true wizards to build numbers and create a coup  d'état .”

 

Hermione barely suppressed a snort. 

 

Alecto, however, nodded. “Yes. There is also some difficulty in finding mudbloods as some are, in fact, half-bloods, the product of disgusting sexual abnormalities from wizards. As well as producing a child to be raised in a barbaric world, the wizard is likely to find himself weakened, and diseased. Muggles are abominations, and it will only take two generations of genetic isolations to show them as they truly are: an entirely different species. Then, it will be easy to see the crime that is initiating heinous acts.”

 

This time, Hermione did snort, and Neville flinched as the class turned to look at her.

 

“I’m sorry, are you calling mixed couplings beastiality?”

 

“Yes, Miss…”

 

“Granger.”

 

Alecto’s eyebrows rose. “Granger. Yes. Mixed breeding is beastiality. I find it interesting that you haven’t been registered with the rest of your kind. Does the headmaster know something that we don’t?”

 

Hermione snorted. “Both of my parents are muggles, and you can tell that I’m my father’s daughter just by looking at him. My magic became visible at 8 months old, when I would summon my picture books. If you think an 8 month old to be capable of ‘magical theft’,” she sneered the words, “then you are even stupider than I thought.”

 

Alecto hissed. “Detention, Miss Granger. You will be here tonight, at seven o’clock.”

 

Hermione flushed, Neville’s hand on her arm the only reason that she stayed in her seat. The rest of the session continued with the same tangent; the abomination of muggleborns and wizards who would engage in relations with muggles. The young witch tried her hardest to tune the woman out, but to no avail. It seemed an age before the lesson ended, with homework set.

 

“I expect eighteen inches on how mudbloods create inferior items in order to emulate magic. Dismissed!”

 

Hermione paused by the woman’s desk as she took a bite out of her toast. “You do understand that toast, and toasters, were invented by muggles, Professor Carrow?”

 

One look at the woman’s face was almost enough to say that her comment had been worth it, however the punishment was very much not. 

 

“I shall be informing my brother of your infractions. I’m sure he will see to it that your ignorance is corrected prior to our meeting this evening.

 

Get out.”

 

Hermione rushed from the room, a very concerned boy at her side. “Hermione! You’ve now got three detentions this week! And you shouldn’t antagonise her. If she let’s the other Carrow know…”

 

“Then what, Neville? What exactly is he going to do?”

 

Neville shuddered, his eyes watering. “The punishments and rules around here have changed - it’s like having Umbridge here, but worse. The Carrows use it to their full advantage. If she says you’re going to be corrected, she means that you are going to be hurt.”

 

Hermione fell quiet as they continued towards the stairs, splitting their separate ways as Hermione continued to transfiguration. 

 

The familiarity of professors McGonagall and Vector cheered her slightly, only for her mood to darken as she and Neville entered the Dark Arts classroom. The desks had all been swept to the side, and Carrow’s sadistic smirk reminded her of his sister’s promise.

 

“Miss Granger,” he called. “I hear you’ve volunteered for demonstration today?”

 

A few of the Slytherins tittered, while Draco’s eyes held fear. 

 

“Malfoy! Granger! Come to the middle of the room, please.”

 

Hermione moved forward warily, while Draco affected a swagger and wink towards his classmates. 

 

Carrow snorted. “Not so cocky, Malfoy. Let’s see how well you do, first.”

 

The rest of the class held their breath, and it dawned on Hermione that while the rest of the class seemed to know this game, she did not.

 

Malfoy raised his wand. “Langlock,” he cast, and Hermione felt her tongue join to the roof of her mouth.

 

“Excellent!” Carrow crowed. “As Malfoy has now prevented his opponent from speaking, she can only protect herself with wordless magic.”

 

Hermione steeled herself, raising her wand in a combative stance. Draco paused, just long enough for her to throw up a nonverbal shield charm. Draco’s nonverbal ‘levicorpus’ bounced off the shield, throwing him up in the air to dangle from his ankle.

 

Professor Carrow scowled, and flicked his wand to return the boy to rights. “Off your game today, Malfoy? You’ll need to vastly improve before I speak next to your father.”

 

Draco paled. “Crucio!” he cried.

 

Hermione felt the spell penetrate her shield, throwing her onto the ground momentarily and giving her opponent enough time to stun her.

 

Carrow nodded. “Once the victim is unconscious, the opponent has them entirely at their mercy until the spell wears off. This is useful if you are wanting to contain someone while keeping them alive.”

 

He turned to Draco. “You cruciatus curse could use some work, however.” He ended the stupefy on Hermione and flicked is own wand towards her. “Crucio,” he said lazily.

 

This time, she felt the pain acutely, sharp knives of pain shooting through her body and seizing her muscles. Her tongue was still stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she clenched her teeth together. 

 

_ Don’t let them see how weak you are. _

 

She curled tightly into a ball, her eyes closing with the agony exploding in her head. She could feel the pain throughout her entirety, from her ears to her feet.

 

_ And every step she took was like walking on knives. _

 

Tears leaked from her eyes, and a small whimper broke free before the spell was removed from her. 

 

“The cruciatus curse needs to be cast from a desire to cause pain. It is fairly useless if cast in fear or mild anger. Draco here, seems to be under the impression that his desire to win the fight is enough to cast it accurately,” he sneered at the boy. “And so he shall cast it again.”

 

Carrow summoned Hermione’s wand to his hand, and Hermione froze with fear as the blonde slytherin lifted his own wand once more. 

 

“Remember Draco, she is a mudblood. She deserves it.”

 

“ _ Crucio!”  _ He cast again, and this time Hermione felt the curse hit her fully, albeit much weaker than the curse used by the professor.

 

Draco’s eyes were wide, and his jaw slack as he looked from her to Carrow and back again.

 

_ He shouldn’t be punished for his pity. You are a mudblood after all. _

 

Hermione writhed, imitating her reaction to Carrow’s harsher curse. So soon after the previous suffering, it was easy enough to do. Her body was still shaking, her fingernails still breaking the skin on her palms. Her head felt ready to explode, her tears fell faster, and as she allowed the muffled screams to burst free, she felt shame at the laugh that came from her supposed teacher.

 

Draco ended the spell, and Carrow clapped him on the back. “Much better.

 

Next week, you shall all be given a target to practice on, and I shall expect a similar level of mastery by the end of the session. You may, of course, practice prior to our next session. Class dismissed.”

 

Hermione struggled to her feet as Neville rushed towards her, countering the langlock on her. She shook weakly, Neville pulling her arm over his shoulder and grabbing her bag. Carrow tossed her wand towards her, grinning as it hit the ground at her feet. 

 

“Accio wand,” she croaked, and the wand rose weakly into her palm. The class may have ended early, but she felt as though she’d endured much more than her strength would allow.

 

She felt eyes on her throughout supper, but kept her eyes on her plate as Neville and Ginny tried to coax her into conversation. The rest of the table seemed unaffected, explained by Neville as their being used to the Dark Arts lessons. It may have been the first time a student had been used to cast the curse in seventh year DA, but it certainly wasn’t a novelty to see the curse cast at all.

 

By the time she reached the Muggle Studies classroom, she felt as battered as she had ever felt prior to her experience in the woods. Now, it seemed that anything would pale in response.

 

She knocked on the door softly, heart sinking as Carrow called her in. The classroom was as it had been earlier, aside from the quill and parchment that sat on the desk at the front of the room. She eyes it warily, noting the lack of ink.

 

“I see you’re familiar with writing lines, Miss Granger? I would like you to write this, 100 times.” She flicked her wand at the chalkboard. 

 

_ Muggles are not human. A mudblood is not a sorcerer. _

 

Hermione remembered the quills used by Professor Umbridge, and lifted her chin as she sat herself down. At least the phrase was long - she hoped that meant that the writing would be small upon her hand. When she began to write, however, she didn’t feel pain. She frowned, looking up at her Professor and then down at her work. Her writing was red, blood red, and yet no etchings appeared on her skin.  _ A mudblood- _ she gasped. The word was keenly felt, and Hermione shoved her sleeve up to the see the word formed on her left forearm, healing over before her eyes. 

 

Mudblood. 

 

“100 times please, Miss Granger. Every time you pause, I shall add an extra line. Continue.”

 

100 lines later, her arm was throbbing with pain, the soreness of her body spiked by the shooting pain in her arm and the faint feeling of blood loss. Carrow grinned as she handed over the parchment.

 

“Beautiful, isn’t it? We improved upon the quill that Dolores Umbridge used. Now, the blood is siphoned from your veins, with only the words we choose kept on you as a reminder. If I see you in here again, your lines will be much longer. Understood?”

 

Hermione nodded, keeping her mouth shut until she reached her chambers in the staff quarters. With the door securely shut behind her, she began to sob. She ran the arm under cool water, seeing her own handwriting cut deep into her pale skin as if carved with a scalpel. It was so precise, so legible, that Hermione cursed the consistency of her handwriting. Would it make a difference if her handwriting changed?

 

The pain continued, and Hermione’s sobs grew louder as she washed the blood away. As the wound refused to clot, she sighed and reached for a flannel, pressing it tightly around her arm. There was only one thing for it.

 

She surveyed the corridor before slipping out, hand pausing before she knocked on the door next to her. It was opened by a Severus Snape minus frock coat and shoes, and she stammered as she spoke her request.

 

“Do you- do you have- have any murtlap essence I could use, Sir?”

 

He took one look at the hand holding her flannel tightly to her arm and waved her into her chambers. His layout was very similar to her own, with the exception of it being larger and obviously more lived in. The biggest surprise, however, was the pale, dark haired witch on his sofa, her own stockinged feet tucked up beside her, and a glass of wine in hand.

 

“Professor Vector! I’m so sorry, I’m intruding…”

 

“Nonsense,” Snape snorted. “Just give me a second.”

 

Hermione shifted uncomfortably as she tried not to stare. Professor Vector was free of her red robes and hat, looking very relaxed in Professor Snape’s chambers.

 

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” Hermione murmured apologetically just as Severus returned to the living room with a vial in hand.

 

He rolled his eyes as he handed it to her. “I trust you know how to use it?”

 

She nodded. “Thank you.”

 

Hermione hurried from his chambers without wishing them a good evening, shutting her door behind her with a gasp. 

 

Professors Snape and Vector? Were they together? 

 

And why did she care if they were?

  
  



	12. Truth and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione experiences an odd twist to her nighttime horrors, and Snape does the unexpected.

She managed to get through her Wednesday without incident, and was paired once again with Draco. Looking around the room, it was fairly obvious what their professor had done in the last session. Each long mahogany workspace sat two students who were very similar in ability. He’d put people with a similar understanding together, and kept apart the brighter students that would normally help their more inept classmates.

 

Even with that in mind, he had managed to mix houses where possible. Hermione had to admit, the man was indeed very perceptive.

 

They had begun that lesson by observing the maturation of their potions, taking account of any changes that they could notice to colour and consistency, a difficult task when the potions had to be kept in a cool and dark location. They could, of course, smell the potion, however much of the class determined that it would be unwise to do so.

 

Hermione and Draco, however, pulled out their textbooks.

 

“It’s been 48 hours,” Draco observed. “And the potion takes a full month to mature.”

 

Hermione frowned. “That’s true, but not to say that the will not fuse until the end. As I understand it, it’s merely the potency and clarity that takes the full cycle to achieve - for it to be clear and odourless. I’m sure that once taken off the heat, and no longer fuming, it should be fine to smell.”

 

Draco grinned, and handed her a vial of the substance. “Go ahead if you’re so sure, Granger.”

 

Hermione lifted her chin and pulled the stopper from the top and sniffed. “The lunar musk has strengthened,” she said slowly, and Draco jotted the observation down. “Interestingly, while the mixture still had a tint of red, I cannot smell the Ptolemy at all. Presumably, this is because of the Adder’s fork - when a snake smells, it picks up tiny particles on its tongue. As a potion component rather than a live snake, there is no  vomeronasal system to deposit it into, I imagine the particles are simply held by the tongue. When the sophorous bean comes into full effect, it will likely consume the Adder’s fork, removing the smell entirely.”

 

Draco nodded as he quickly scribbled down the notes, while Hermione replaced the stopper. “Who is the sexiest Slytherin?”

 

Hermione snorted. “Goyle.”

 

Draco sniggered. “How did you know you wouldn’t be affected?”

 

She held up the vial for him to see. “Professor Snape has replaced the stoppers. If you’ll look, this one has small air holes.”

 

“5 points to Gryffindor,” a cold voice murmured, and the pair turned to see Snape slinking away without a backwards glance.

 

“Holy shit, Granger,” Draco exclaimed in a hushed voice.

 

“I know,” Hermione mused. “I am fairly certain he has  _ never  _ awarded me house points before.”

 

“I’ve never seen him give points to any Gryffindor before.”

 

Hermione frowned, her elation quickly slipping away as she contemplated the dour man. Was he awarding points for her observational skill? Or was he bribing her to stay quiet?

 

Draco and Hermione returned their potions to the store cupboard and returned to their table, organising their notes and cross-referencing to their textbooks, with a mild air of distraction.

 

Of course, dinner came and went, and it was a distracted brunette that went to bed that night, reading through her journal entries absently mindedly, her mind focusing on the veritaserum, and modifications that could be made. Nothing new entered in her secret book, and Hermione was surprised when her usual dreams took a confusing turn.

 

_ She was in the potions classroom, alone with her Professor who exuded his expression of impenetrable calm. His eyes were piercing, and for reasons that she couldn’t comprehend, she was afraid. _

 

_ He wouldn’t hurt her, would he? He was her teacher, her mentor. He was supposed to look after her… why was he looming over her like that. Hermione shrunk back into her chair letting out a small sound of terror. _

 

_ The Dream Snape remained unchanged, placing a bottle of clear, odourless liquid in front of her. “Three drops,” he ordered. “Now.” _

 

_ She was frozen to her seat, unable to move, and Snape raised one eyebrow. “We don’t have all day.” _

 

_ Her hand shook as she reached for it, her body screaming out for her to stop, but she couldn't obey. The rational part of her mind told her to run, to hide from him. And yet, she didn’t. She squeezed three drops onto her tongue and swallowed, handing both the vial and its pipet stopper to the man, and he screwed the cap on leisurely, eyes on her throughout. _

 

_ “Can you feel the effects yet, Miss Granger?” _

 

_ She felt compelled to lie, and yet she shook her head. “Not yet, sir.” _

 

_ He nodded. “Then we shall wait.” _

 

_ A couple of minutes later, the serum was in full force, and Hermione lifted her eyes to his, head bowed low. “I think it’s working now, Professor.” _

 

_ “Good.” He took a seat beside her. _

 

_ “What is your name?” _

 

_ “Hermione Jean Granger.” _

 

_ “How old are you?” _

 

_ “Nearly 20.” _

 

_ “And how was that possible?” _

 

_ “I used a time turner.” _

 

_ “Where are your parents?” _

 

_ “Australia.” _

 

_ He nodded. “Good. Now, what happened with Potter?” _

 

_ She gulped, fighting in vain to stop the urge to speak. She couldn’t tell him, she couldn’t ever tell him. She couldn’t let anyone know. _

 

_ “We had a fight.” _

 

_ “I had worked that one out myself,” he replied mockingly. “Want to tell me why?” _

 

_ “No, I don’t.” _

 

_ “Well, that’s fair. Now, tell me why.” _

 

_ “I-” she choked. “I can’t tell you, I can’t tell anyone.” _

 

_ “Did you take a vow, Miss Granger?” _

 

_ She shook her head. _

 

_ “Then why can’t you tell me?” _

 

_ “Because it hurts.” _

 

_ “Well then, you can tell me or I will hurt you myself.” _

 

_ Dream Snape’s manner shifted, and Hermione’s eyes welled with tears at the sight of her Potions Professor without his frock coat. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned, and a Carrowesque snarl overtook his mouth as he reached for his belt. _

 

_ “No, please!” she cried. “Please, I can’t! I can’t! Not again…” _

 

_ “Did Potter do this to you?” He asked. “Did he fuck you until you screamed? I bet you ran away afterwards, didn’t you? Coward.” _

 

_ She sobbed in earnest, her hands covering her face. “Please, it hurt so much…” _

 

_ A hand on her cheek lifted her head. “It won’t hurt the second time,” he told her. “Not unless I want it to.” _

 

_ She could see that he did want it to, very much. _

 

_ “Help!” she screamed. “Please, someone help!” _

 

_ “I think she needs help, Severus.” Carrow appeared from the shadows, his hard cock in hand as he eagerly eyed the Gryffindor. “Can I have her? You’ve got Vector after all.” _

 

_ Snape snorted. “Not the same as fucking a mudblood, is it? I love how they can’t take it, how they cry at the slightest penetration. They’re so weak, so prudish. I mean, we’ll have to cleanse her first, of course. Can’t let her infect us with her filth…” _

 

_ Hermione howled in agony as they simultaneously cast cleansing charms, leaving her dry and raw.  _

 

_ Carrow thrust himself inside, and the feeling provided was as if being skinned from the inside out. _

 

_ Snape moved forward, ready to join his companion... _

 

“Stop! Stop!” Hermione screamed, thrashing and crying as she fought to untangle herself from her bedsheets. She was thankful for the wards around her bed as her roommates slept, oblivious to the women running to the bathroom and promptly vomiting into the toilet. Sweat poured all over her, mixing with her tears and dripping from her chin. She cried softly until the tears started to slow, and went back to her bed to grab a change of clothes. She wouldn’t make the same mistake as she had last time - wet clothes were never fun, and she’d smelled of damp for a couple of days afterwards.

 

She set the temperature to scalding hot, and by the time she felt clean and had dressed, the time was five thirty. She sighed, pulling her wet hair into a messy bun before heading down to the common room.

 

It was empty, as it always was at this time of the morning. She wanted to go to her chambers, and carry on her research, but her dreams had left her afraid.

 

_ There are people here who want to hurt you. _

 

_ You shouldn’t be out of Gryffindor tower. _

 

_ It’s not safe here. _

 

The tears began to rise again, as she realised something truly upsetting; the one place, the one safe haven she had, was not the refuge that she had so emphatically thought it to be. In the castle, in her one remaining home, she would have to hide.

 

Later that day she would have to face her night time tormentor - alone.

  
  



	13. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slytherins are little shits, and a misconception is cleared up.

A couple of hours later, Hermione awoke to find herself in the common room next to the roaring fireplace with the sounds of people waking drifting down from the dormitories. She rubbed her eyes and pulled out a notebook, waiting for Neville and Ginny to emerge. Neville appeared rather quickly, likely due their first lesson Herbology class. He was grinning widely, clutching his bag in one hand, and a pair of dragon hide gloves in the other.

 

“Morning Neville,” Hermione smiled weakly. “You’re up early this morning. Looking forward to class?”

 

“Oh, yes!” he chirped. “We’re going back to the Venomous Tentaculas today, and we’ll be getting really close up, and it’s going to be so useful for my research project! Gran even sent me these gloves! She said she’s proud of me!”

 

Hermione gasped. “Professor Sprout offered you a research project? Damn, Nev, why didn’t you say anything?” She pulled him into a hug and squeezed him tightly. He friend blushed as they pulled apart, and scratched at his head awkwardly.

 

“She spoke to me after class last week - the thursday session that you missed, you know? She was impressed with my observations on the Venomous Tentacular and offered to help me research further and publish my observational findings. Of course, I’m going to get a lot closer to the plants themselves, being that I’ll be studying them, so Gran thought I could do with the right equipment.”

 

Soon, Ginny joined them and the three wandered down to breakfast, the two young women trying desperately to keep up with the research proposal of their excited friend. They were both incredibly happy for the boy, and yet Hermione couldn’t help but feel a sinking in her stomach. She wanted it to be her. She wanted to prove that she had the knowledge, and that she was good enough. She wanted people to recognise that in some areas, she wasn’t inferior.

 

_ But of course you are. Who on earth would want to work with you? They’d be tying their name to a mudblood. Even if you’re good at potions, Snape would still choose Draco over you. Draco is a real wizard, he actually commands some respect. _

 

If she became quieter throughout the meal, her friends didn’t notice as Neville filled the silences with his enthusiasm. 

 

It was incredibly useful to her to be working with him in potions, although guilt rose high at the thought that her abilities in their class would be carried by her companion, and so she tried to absorb as much of the information as she could. Although she found the true understanding and free-thinking to be utterly beyond her, she was at least confident that she would pass her NEWT highly. In fact, she would pass all of her NEWTs with reasonable grades, but could she settle for reasonable? Panic shot through her quickly, and she scratched at her arm, biting her lip as she watched Neville dissect a leaf in front of her, explaining the internal intricacies of the plant. A glance around the room made it apparent that all other pairs were merely noting down the size, shape, colour and texture, and looking for variances, while Neville had drove in headfirst with the keen eye of Professor Sprout constantly appearing at their table to provide useful hints, and to gush over Neville’s findings.

 

By the time the lesson ended, despondent was a mild term for how Hermione was feeling. In fact, she was on a hair’s edge, and it didn’t take much to tip her over.

 

The Slytherins were already outside when she arrived for potions, checking the time and finding that there was five full minutes until the lesson was due to begin. They smirked as they saw her arrive, and the group slowly began to approach her, stalking like predators towards their lone and vulnerable prey. She gulped, glancing behind her, but seeing no one there to provide relief. So instead, she lifted her chin and kept her pace, moving into the throng to stand by the door, ready to enter the moment her Professor opened the door to the classroom.

 

A tall male grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her backwards.

 

“Tut tut,” he grinned. “Shouldn’t a mudblood like you learn your place? Real wizards first, you can crawl in at the end.”

 

Another boy chuckled. “On your hands and knees, like the animal you are.”

 

Pansy laughed loudly. “Mudblood! Shouldn’t even be here. Isn’t that right, Draco?”

 

Hermione glanced at the pale blonde boy, standing slightly back from the crowd. Her honey eyes focused on his, silently begging him to help her, and he glanced around quickly at the group around him before sauntering into their midst and standing before her.

 

“We shouldn’t even be talking to her? It’s not like she’s worthy of our presence,” he proclaimed haughtily.

 

Pansy moaned. “I can’t believe you’re stuck with her in this class, Draco. I don’t know  _ what _ Professor Snape was thinking, to pair the unworthy bitch with a pureblood such as you.” She placed a hand on his arm, and gave him a look so sympathetic that Hermione couldn't doubt that it was real.  She sucked in a quick breath, and slowly took a step back.

 

Blaise stalked her, pushing her back against a wall and immediately panic shot through the girl.

 

_ Not again. Please, not again. I can’t take it. I can’t take this. They’re right. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t deserve to be here. I’m a mudblood. I should be with my kind. _

 

She scratched at her arm, feeling the letters rise up on her flesh once more.

 

_ Mudblood. _

 

He moved his face in, his body blocking her from escape, and she let out a whimper, sinking to the floor and curling up into a tight ball. The Slytherins all laughed, raucous laughter, and several of them patted Blaise on the back.

 

“Well done, Zabini!”

 

“You’ve certainly put that thieving whore back in her place!”   
  


_ Whore. _

 

She rocked forwards, and relief shot through her when the door to the classroom opened, and their forebidding teacher leaned against the door frame.

 

“Get in. All of you.”

 

The crowd removed themselves from her, and all Hermione could do was to shoot a distressed cry at her Professor as she rose to her feet and fled, as quickly as she could with tears blurring her vision.

 

***

 

She stayed in her chambers the rest of the day, staring at the fire that she asked Spiffy for. The elf was a picture of mothering concern, and Hermione was grateful as he appeared at regular intervals to provide her with pots of tea and plates of sandwiches. She couldn’t eat. She nibbled the corner of one sandwich, the rest staying on the table as her tea was drank and refilled. She didn’t spare a thought to the classes she’d missed, or the knowledge she’d need to catch up on. She didn’t look once at the open research on her desk.

 

She watched the flames. She drank the tea. She gave Spiffy a wan smile. She used the bathroom. She repeated the actions.

 

At some point in the evening, a knock arrived at her door, and Hermione blinked to realise that the room was in darkness save for the still burning fire. She lit several candles around the room with a flick of her hand, and rose to answer the door with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, hoping beyond hope that the intruder wasn’t one Albus Dumbledore.

  
  


It wasn’t. Instead, it was the other teacher that she would really rather not see. At this point, she would almost prefer the Carrows, the ones that didn’t have her trust and didn’t even bother to hide their hatred of her. With this stern man, she never knew what to expect from him, or what he was truly thinking at all.

 

He scowled. “May I come in, or are we just going to chat in the hallway?”

 

She froze for only a moment before stepping aside and allowing her Professor into her chambers. He immediately strode over to her sofa, settling comfortably and grabbing a sandwich from the plate on her table.

 

She sat timidly on the chair beside him, moving her blanket to cover her legs.

 

“I would like to know why you didn’t turn up for our Occlumency lesson,” he told her neutrally, and Hermione felt tears prick her eyes once more at his cool demeanor.

 

She took a deep breath. “I was feeling quite unwell. I apologise for not letting you know in advance.”

 

He scoffed, and took a bite of his snack, swallowing before speaking once more. “Really? If you’re unwell, then why haven’t you been to see Madam Pomfrey?”

 

Somehow, he knew, and she dropped her gaze to her lap. “I’m sorry. I had an altercation before Potions today,” she whispered. 

 

“I saw. Doesn’t explain the absence from our ‘detention’.”

 

She frowned. “Aren’t you angry that I skipped Potions?”   
  


“No. That, Miss Granger, was understandable. 10 points from Gryffindor, by the way.”

 

She shot him a look, and his lips twitched. 

 

“Your absence this evening, however, is something that I will not tolerate in future.”

 

“Sir! I-”

 

He quieted her with a glare. “I am taking my own time away to do you this favour. And it is a favour, Miss Granger, not an obligation. So if you wish me to continue being so kind as to help you, then you’ll respect our agreed meetings. I can assure you that there won’t be any other students present during these.”

 

Maybe that was a problem, her mind whispered. After that dream last night.

 

_ Can’t let her infect us with her filth. _

 

She cringed, and he leaned towards her. “What happened?”

 

“I had another dream last night.”

 

“Well I didn’t think they were unusual for you.”

 

“They’re not. But this one involved you.”

 

“Involved me how?”

 

She shook her head rapidly, passing him a pleading glance and he let out a sigh.

 

“Do you genuinely think I would hurt you, Hermione?”

 

The use of her given name made her start, but the informality helped in its own way. This was the man who had protected his students thoroughly throughout the years, from everything other than his own caustic attitude. The number of times that he had helped Harry and the Order…

 

“No,” she said surely. “I trust you.”

 

“You do know that dreams aren’t real?” he asked her, as if speaking to a small child, and she felt irritation shoot through her.

 

“Yes,” she snapped. “You do know that belittling someone doesn’t make them feel better?”

 

He shrugged. “It makes  _ me _ feel better.”

 

“Being belittled or doing the belittling?”

 

He snorted, and Hermione’s lips twitched.

 

He grabbed a napkin and wiped the crumbs from his hands. “Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked.

 

“Please.”

 

“Spiffy,” she called, and the elf appeared in front of her with a smile. 

 

“Yes Missy? You have company!” he squeaked. “Is Missy Granger doing better?”

 

She smiled back at him. “Yes, thank you Spiffy. Would you mind bringing some more tea, for Professor Snape as well as myself?”

 

“Of course, Missy!”

 

“He seems to like you,” Severus noted. “I guess you didn’t scare him off with your ridiculous cause?”

 

She hissed. “It wasn’t ridiculous! They’ve got some form of Stockholm Syndrome, most of them. Maybe he’s grateful.”

 

Spiffy reappeared with a pop. 

 

“Spiffy,” Professor Snape addressed the elf. “Are you happy serving Miss Granger?”

 

“Oh yes, Professor sir! Missy Granger is very kind to us elves!”

 

“Were you here when she tried to sneak socks to you all?”

 

He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Professor sir! I spoke to Master Headmaster, and he said that if I were to be given a sock or such like, I’d still be able to stay at Hogwarts, that us elves wouldn’t have to leave if we were freed! He even pays wages to those of us who want them, and I put mine aside for any future children!”

 

Snape smiled a genuine smile, and patted Spiffy’s hand. “I’m very pleased that you are happy with your employment, Spiffy.”

 

The elf vanished once more, and Hermione stared at her Professor, dropped jaw and all. 

 

“Well, you didn’t think I’d treat him cruelly, did you?”

 

“Well most of your k-” she broke off with a flush, and shrunk with embarrassment. “I mean, most real wizards are happy to keep them as slaves.”

 

“Most  _ real _ wizards, Miss Granger?”

 

“You know,” she trailed off and finished with a quiet murmur. “Half bloods and purebloods, you know? Most people who belong in the wizarding world are quite used to elves…”

 

“Don’t EVER let me hear you say that again,” he hissed venomously. “There is no such thing as a ‘real’ witch or wizard based on blood. “Anyone who thinks otherwise is an absolute fucking idiot.”

 

Hermione sniffed. “Even the Ministry are promoting the anti-muggle movement. Just look at our curriculum.”

 

He snorted. “The Ministry is corrupt.”

 

She gave him a wan smile. “But does that mean they are truly wrong? You can be both corrupt and correct.”

 

“They’re wrong,” he told her firmly. “And if I hear you mention blood status as a way of hating yourself, then you’ll lose so many house points that your remaining time here will be a living hell.”

 

The girl scoffed. “As if it isn’t already.”

 

He reached awkwardly for her hand before dropping his arm limply to his side at the last moment. “This war is hell, for some of us more than others. Having suffered doesn’t mean you must continue to do so.”

 

“You speak as if I can control how people treat me,” she stated bitterly. “You know I have no control over the deep-rooted beliefs of others. I have no control over how people see me, what they want to do to me. I cannot stop my own suffering.”

 

“You can,” he snapped. “You can’t stop the pain, you can’t always stop the events, but you can carry on living. Not this ghostly imitation. You’ve given up, and I’m here to tell you that things will get better. You will find people, even where you least expect them, who will want to support you and share your goals and your cause.”

 

_ Like you _ .

 

She smiled at him and nodded, before her joy soured. “Like you and Professor Vector?” she asked softly.

 

“That is one example. I understand that you’ve sent your parents away?”

 

She nodded. “I had to,” she tried to explain desperately.

 

“I know,” he replied shortly. “You may not have family here anymore, but you still have friends, no matter how idiotic and vapid they may be.”

 

“My friends are not idiotic or vapid! Neville was always afraid of you, and Ginny is just insecure! It’s a phase!”

 

He lifted a hand. “I have absolutely zero interest in your friends, Miss Granger. I’m simply saying that the family we choose if sometimes better than the family we were born with.”

 

The words were tinged with bitterness, and Hermione felt herself warm towards the man. “Is Professor Vector the family you chose?” she asked quietly.

 

“In some ways, I am lucky,” he mused. “Septima is both the family I was born with, and the family I chose.”

 

“Family?” she frowned. “You’re related.”

 

“You’re feeling nosy,” he muttered. “She is my cousin on my mother’s side.”

 

Hermione thought it through, and then let out a small elated laugh. “How could no one have guessed?” she giggled. “Dark hair, pale skin, stern attitude…”

 

He glared fiercely. “I think that’s enough for tonight. Get some rest. I’ll have to spend my Friday night with you instead.”

 

“I am sorry,” she said. “Thank you for freeing up your time for me.”

 

“You’re welcome.” She shot from the room without a backwards glance, shutting the door quietly behind him.

 

Hermione kept grinning, her hands tight around her warm teacup. He wasn’t with Vector. She didn’t know why that made her happy, and she didn’t want to analyse it. Still, the sound of her name on his lips… it made him more human. It made her feel less alone.

 

_ Hermione. _

 

She cleared away, and made her way to Gryffindor tower with a lighter heart.

  
  



	14. Meditation and Romances

 

When Hermione arrived at the door to his classroom the next evening, she’d have thought she would feel calmer than she did. They had spoken the day before - she knew that he wouldn’t hurt her. Still, she found herself pausing to steady her breath, and attempt to calm down her frantic pulse.

 

Without warning, the door lurched open, and her dark haired Professor held it, eyebrow raised. “You do know that I can hear you coming towards my door, correct?”

 

She blushed pink. “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry - I simply like to pause to collect my thoughts.”

 

“Then do so before you get here.”

 

He slammed the door shut behind her, and the brunette raised an eyebrow in a mockery of his own. “Honestly, you’d think the door had done something to offend you.”

 

The scowl deepend. “It doesn’t need to. Enough things offend me.”   
  


“Do I offend you?”

 

“On a near daily basis. Now, you said yesterday that you trust me?”

 

She gulped. “Yes, sir…” she managed.

 

“Has anything happened for that to change?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

He nodded, and walked across the room to his office door. “Come with me, then.”

 

He led her into his office, and she gasped at the transformation. His desk and chairs had been removed, and the bookcases shrunk and moved into one corner. Instead, she saw soft rugs and beanbags on the floor, looking more like a muggle meditation retreat than a magical school full of old tradition and scholarly propriety. The scent of lavender filled the room, and it filled the girl with an immediate sense of calm. She inhaled deeply, her breathing slowing as she took in the room before her. It was lit softly with tealight candles scattered around the perimeter of the room. Now, in this light, the room itself appeared less empty of personality. Now, she could see the subtlety of the dark curtains - instead of black, they were a very deep green. The wood of the remaining furniture was a deep mahogany, wonderfully matched to the shelves on the walls that had likewise been shrunk, the many specimens removed for the evening. She saw, now, that the walls were an off-white colour, and with the wooden floor peaking out from the gaps in rugs and cushions, the room looked more delicate and refined in design. The removal of the dim lighting, cramped appearance, and disturbing samples made the room much less frightening, and Hermione wondered if the usual aspects of the room were purely for his teaching persona, or merely signs of his interests. She frowned slightly.

 

“Has there always been a window here?” she asked.

 

“Yes,” Snape replied. “I usually have it hidden.”

 

“Why?”

 

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Because I have delicate potions ingredients in here, many of which are very valuable and sensitive to light.”

 

She nodded, accepting his explanation, and he kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his outer robes. 

 

“You’ll want to get comfortable.”

 

She followed his example, removing her warm outer robe and shoes, and following his example to seat herself cross-legged on one of the beanbags. To her surprise, the room was warm, pleasantly so, despite the fireplace not being lit and the room being in the dungeons. She made to question him, but one look at his face immediately caused her mouth to shut. He was looking almost as scary as Neville claimed him to be, and she shrunk in on herself, muscles tensing. Without warning, he closed his eyes, posture as perfect as she’d come to expect from the man. He folded his hands across his lap, and she imitated his actions, hesitating before she also closed her eyes.

 

Minutes passed. 

 

_ What is the purpose of this? _

 

_ Maybe if you shut up and let yourself experience it, you might understand. _

 

_ But how do I know what to experience, if I don’t know the point of the exercise? _

 

“Stop thinking.”

 

“How?” she asked.

 

“Just give yourself permission not to think. Remind yourself that you don’t need to focus on anything, and let your mind go.”

 

She scowled and fidgeted, but did as he requested, her eyes closing once more despite her irritation. 

 

She focused on not focusing on her thoughts, eventually finding herself losing her task completely. Her mind took her on a journey - not focusing, hating that she wasn’t managing to do the task as requested. Her feelings in Herbology when she couldn’t match up to Neville’s success, the worthiness that she had always strived for through her academic success. Wondering if her parents would still be proud of her if she didn’t graduate at the top of her year. What grades did Snape get? Was he at the top of his year too, or did he merely have a talent for Potions? What had led him to pursue that particular study? Would she one day be able to master the subject as thoroughly as he had? Did she want to? What other studies did she want to pursue? 

 

What career path did she want to take? Where did she want to live, what did she want to do?

 

The thought kept coming and then going, never settling, and Hermione started when a bell began to lightly chime. 

 

“You can open your eyes now,” a smooth baritone murmured quietly. 

 

She opened her eyes, and straightened from the slumped position that she had fallen into. Everything was blurry, foggy, and it seemed like an age had passed. She had no concept of time, or real connect to the thoughts that had rushed through her, and her whole body hummed with a sense of true, undisturbed calm. Severus handed her a mug of tea, and she took hold of it carefully, aware of her every move.

 

“What time is it?” she asked.

 

“8 o’clock.”

 

She frowned. “It’s only been an hour?”

 

He chuckled softly. “Yes, Miss Granger, it has only been an hour.”

 

“It seemed like I was in a trance. I thought hours had passed, or only minutes.”

 

He nodded. “That was the aim we were hoping to achieve.”

 

“To become disconnected from reality?”

 

“For a short time, yes. When you practice this, you practice allowing your mind to drift without your guiding it, to focus on the things that it needs to bring forth, and then to put them away as new connections are formed. After allowing your mind an uncontrolled reign for a period of time, when you resurface you find your thoughts to be less overwhelming. In short, you have more control over yourself and can maintain the same sense of calm for a while afterwards.”

 

Indeed, her Professor did look calm, true calm. The calm that she usually witnessed him project was one of practiced control and discipline. It certainly wasn’t a joyous calm, and now that was an apt way to describe him. He appeared almost...happy. Truly happy. Happy within himself, without requirement for an external cause. This lifted Hermione from her place of wonder and peace, and elevated her to a place of true beauty, watching as the frown lines became smooth and his lips lifted. The tension left his jaw, and his eyes were alight. He looked so much younger, younger than she ever would have expected. 

 

She knew that he had been at school with Sirius and Remus, but the two of them had also aged long before their time. Now, she could see him as he was; an intelligent man in his thirties. Comfortable, he seemed so much more on the same level as her, and for the first time she felt that they were in the same age category to be considered friends, acquaintances, or colleagues. She felt that she could get to know him as a person rather than object of admiration or fear.

 

Hermione smiled softly as she drank her tea, and when their eyes met over their mugs, the light in his stayed. He smiled, too.

 

***

 

He saw her to Gryffindor Tower afterwards, and this became a habit in the month following. He would be his usual caustic self in front of others, snarking worse than usual even. She lost so many house points that it added to her infinite humiliation amongst the blatant racism and nepotism of the Wizarding climate. The world was shrinking around her, the school itself becoming more and more hostile by the day. Ginny and Neville alone continued to stand by her, the other students were either hostile or sympathetic. None of them were willing to help her, and so she drew closer and closer to the two Gryffindors. The others in their house were more likely to offer surreptitious smiles in the common room, but that in itself filled her heart with sorrow. 

 

No, the light in the dark had become her sessions with Professor Snape. They had continued with a twice weekly regime, and with 8 further sessions under her belt, Hermione had started to look forward to their time together. After the learning part of the evening was over, Severus would discuss other subjects with her, often Potions although not limited to. They would generally talk about subjects that she was studying, and Hermione became more and more curious whether their interests were the same, or his pool of knowledge was large. 

 

He would also come and find her if she’d locked herself in her chambers, be it from terror, fury, or simply a lack of noticing the time. He had taken to shooting paper aeroplanes from his window across to hers, only a couple of words at a time, but they made her smile.

 

In fact, she was wanting to hide in her chambers on one particular day, but was also frightened that any notes she would receive would be… strange, on this particular day.

 

It was February 14th, and breakfast was a noisy and raucous affair filled with giggles and blushes among the younger years, and some overly heated glances between the older students who lacked in all attempts at subtlety. Hermione was certain that she had learned of three new relationships that meal alone, simply by catching the phenomena of a classmate being undressed by another classmate’s eyes.

 

She sighed softly into her tea, staring at her nibbled toast. Valentine’s day was always a day that gave her a shot of sadness and longing, from a feeling of being left out at first, to a feeling of loneliness, and a hole inside her telling her that there must be something wrong with her, that there was a reason why no one wanted her. Too ugly, too frizzy, too bookish, too boring…

 

_ Too much mudblood. _

 

The thought was pushed aside the moment it came into recognition. Professor Snape’s tone as he had admonished her repetition of the Death Eater beliefs had cemented his beliefs very securely, and Hermione was able to trust in such a way that she couldn’t trust herself. Without thinking, she looked up to find him at the head table.

 

He was scowling even more than usual, the frown almost hitting the untouched bowl of cereal in front of him. While the day so far was much more subdued than in some years previously (Professor Lockhart being a particular issue) the day was always a bitter reminder to anyone who was alone or unhappy that they were, well, alone or unhappy. Maybe even both.

 

Hermione cocked her head slightly. Was he alone? She’d never thought to ask; not that she thought he would answer. All she knew was that he and Professor Vector were most assuredly not an item. But, she mused, he was a young Professor, and quite attractive when he wasn’t being a complete git… surely he must have someone?

 

Sadness seeping through her veins, a thought suddenly hit her - the Professors were in the castle on Valentine’s Day, same as any other day in the school year. Yes, they would take an evening off every now and again - Hermione knew from her Prefect days that there was a rota for staff that would be bound to remain in the castle, and those who were free to escape. But that meant that many of the staff would be spending the day, and night, in the same halls as amorous teenagers unfocused on studying, and attempting to sneak out after curfew to get up to Merlin knows what…

 

Come to think of it, she’d never seen a Professor’s significant other in the castle at any point, and yet she knew that some of them were married or otherwise entangled.

 

To her surprise, that was the moment that an owl landed beside the Professor’s breakfast, sticking its leg out in a quite Snape-like fashion of irritation and dignity combined. Severus Snape stared the owl down for a few tense seconds before finally taking a letter tied to the bird’s leg. This left another letter attached, and Hermione’s brow furrowed, before seeing the creature hop over to the Arithmancy teacher and offering her the same treatment, only accompanied by a nuzzle as the woman handed it a snack.

 

The younger woman smiled, watching the owl fly away and leave the two cousins with matching red envelopes. Hermione supressed a laugh as she witnessed a shared eyeroll between the two before they opened their post in unison. Maybe from a relative then, a well meaning grandparent or aunt…

 

“Hey, Ginny?” Hermione prodded her sleepy friend.

 

“Yeah, ‘Mione?”

 

“Have you ever seen a Professor here have a partner to come visit? For Valentine’s day or such like?”

 

The ginger snorted. “Nope. Don’t think that much about their boning habits to be perfectly honest with you.”

 

“Ginny!” Hermione exclaimed, while Neville turned a nice shade of beetroot and choked on his bagel.

 

“What? They’re adults ‘Mione. They’re gonna be boning someone. Maybe even each other…”

 

Hermione shuddered, thinking of the impropriety of Flitwick getting it on with Madam Hooch, or Dumbledore making a play for Professor Carrow. No, that was way too much horror to consider so early in the day, and she made her way to leave, determined to grab some study time before class.

 

Sadly, the large pink envelope brought to Ginny didn’t escape Hermione’s notice, and nor did the spiky scrawl on the front.

 

It was even adorned with a heart over the ‘I’.

 

The day became steadily worse from there onwards, as Hermione broke a teacup from placing it down too roughly through her frustration at the dark text in her secret chambers. She growled, ripping spare parchments towards her as she furiously scribbled thoughts down only to screw them up into a ball and chuck them into the fireplace forcefully. No matter what she tried, it wouldn’t work, and she was already on the verge of tears when a knock sounded on her door.

 

She ignored it, and the knocking continued.

 

“You’d better let me in,” a familiar voice called. “Or you’re going to find yourself in detention for a very, very long time.”

 

Despite herself, Hermione snorted, and rose to her feet, opening the door in a fluid gesture of negative energy.

 

“Oh?” she asked. “I think that would be a lot worse for you than it would for me.”

 

“Is that so? I’ll simply have to step up my game where it comes to noisy, disrespectful Gryffindors.”

 

She sighed, and bit her lip as she opened the door further to allow him in to the mess she’d created of her living room.

 

She felt an intense embarrassment shoot to her stomach as he took in the catastrophe of books, notes, stray quills, and a smashed teacup. Wordlessly, he set everything back to rights, seating himself in his usual spot and calling Spiffy to bring more tea.

 

“So, the Valentine nonsense, or simply PMS?”

 

She stared at him in shock, fighting the urge to hit him as her face coloured red and his lips twitched upwards.

 

“Why exactly are you here?” she asked coolly. “Come to make my day better?”   
  


He snorted. “Actually, your noise has once more interrupted my time alone, which of course is very necessary when surrounded by fools more prone to idiocy than any other day of the bloody year. Children sneaking love potions or contraceptives. Teenagers engaging in lewd activities in the bushes…”

 

“Cock up your arse, or merely a hemorrhoid?” she shot at him, and his lips twitched once more.

 

“I can assure you, I’ve never walked the same road as Albus Dumbledore.”

 

She sniggered. “Really? I always thought you two had a thing going… very close, you know? All that time alone when you’d give him report…”

 

“Alas, if I were on my knees, it was always for very different reasons.”

 

She sighed softly, sobering at the thought of the reasons why he would give reports in the first place. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was inconsiderate.”

 

“Yes it was, but it was also funny.”

 

He lifted up the now neatly organised pile of parchment and raised an eyebrow. “Can I assume that your frankly foul temper is due to this?”

 

She sighed, and nodded. “To be honest, I think the day itself doesn’t help - I was in a bad mood already. But this has just tipped it over the edge.”

 

He frowned and bit his thumb. “Is your translation spell not working?”

 

“No, the spell works fine. It’s a more involved part of the text that I can’t decipher. It appears to be written in some form of code.”

 

He reached for the book. “Which page?”

 

“87.” 

 

If he was surprised by the topic, he didn’t show it. He took a look at the page, eyes widening as he reached the passage that had Hermione in fits of frustration. “Have you tried a different translation spell?”

 

“Of course I have!” she snapped. “I’ve tried every possible language to translate to - all of them in the book from the library. Due to the age of the book, it is definitely and old text, however none of the old languages provided in Translation Spells have anything to offer. It’s infuriating!”

 

He ignored her attitude, and twiddled a lock of his hair. “So it’s probably a language not in the books - what makes you think that this is in any way written in code?”

 

She took a couple of deep breaths, and calmed herself to sit beside him and reach for one of the pieces of parchment where she had copied out the passage and began to mark it with notes. “The text contains letters from Anglais, Latin, and Ancient Greek. It doesn’t form coherent words from any of the aforementioned languages. It also doesn’t seem to be as simple as a basic replacement cipher - it isn’t as though some letters have been interchanged for the foreign equivalent. Presumably, this would have required the user to have access to the code itself, or to have a device that will fix it into a readable format. All manual methods that I have tried have been incorrect.”

 

He raised an eyebrow at her, hair tucked behind his right ear. “What exactly makes you a master of cryptography, Miss Granger?”

 

She straightened up and smiled as she told him haughtily, “I’ve attended Cryptography groups and seminars over the last three summers at my parents’, along with Chemistry, Biology and Mathematics.”

 

“That does not surprise me.”

 

“You say it as if that’s a bad thing,” she said sadly. 

 

“I’m not saying that knowledge is bad, Miss Granger, but it surely cannot be your only interest in life.”

 

She shrugged, suddenly feeling very insecure. “I’ve never been that good at anything else. Academic pursuits have always been my place of comfort.”

 

“And yet you are frustrated that you can’t solve this?”

 

She felt tears well up in her eyes, and wiped her hand across them roughly. “It’s not the puzzle that frustrates me, or the task itself. It’s the fact that I’m not good enough to manage it, that I’ve spent so long learning and I’m still not good enough. I try so, so hard-” she broke off with a sob, and a handkerchief appeared in front of her and she choked out a laugh.

 

“I want this one back,” he told her sternly. “I can’t have you commandeering all of them, or what will happen if I catch a cold?”

 

She laughed again. “Then I can provide you with one for once.”

 

He pressed a hand to his chest. “Providing me with one of my own handkerchiefs? I am touched by your generosity, Miss Granger.”

 

With her eyes cleared up and her nose only slightly sniffly, she offered him a warm smile as she turned back to the parchment. “I don’t even know where to start,” she mused. “I can’t even take this to the library to pursue, because I don’t know what I am looking for. I’ve read all of the available books - there really aren’t many at Hogwarts - and I know that none of them hold the answer for this. They’re basic, very much so, and this is very much not.”

 

He nodded consideringly. “I’d advise speaking to Professor Vector about this.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes. She would be uniquely qualified here to help you. Arithmancy and problem solving are her area of expertise…”

 

Hermione slumped again. “I wasn’t supposed to talk about this project with anyone,” she told him. “Professor Dumbledore told me to keep it secret.”

 

“And yet you’ve told me?”

 

That stumped her, and she froze before speaking. “You happen to be around every time that I need help. You have been… invaluable to me since my return to Hogwarts.”

 

“Don’t tell the first years that, they’ll lose their fear of me.”

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

He handed her back the book, and patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll ask Septima myself, out of personal curiosity, and let you know via the usual method if I have anything to share.”

 

“I shall keep an eye out for owl-less post,” she quipped. “Now you’d probably best go and actually relax before your reign of terror.”

 

He paused, as if either reluctant or surprised at being dismissed in such a familiar manner. Then, he smiled, and grabbed the outer robe that he’d tossed onto her armchair. 

 

“Then you’d best keep quiet, witch.”

 

Her mood had been sufficiently lifted that when he left, she was able to return to her task with much more enthusiasm, and a lot less focus on the dastardly holiday and the misery that the day entailed.  

  
  



	15. The Safety of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts breaks up for the Easter Holidays, and Hermione experiences the calm before the storm.

Neville and Ginny were distant for the remainder of the spring term, the former being incredibly focused on his future career, and the latter being consumed by her lovelife. Ginny carried her valentine’s letter in her bag at all times, and Hermione found herself quite unable to cope with seeing her friend so happy over someone who was definitely not as he seemed. In fact, she was becoming increasingly grateful that Harry was on the run - she felt like seeing him, particularly if he was loved-up with Ginny, would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. The fact he was gone, as well as Mrs Weasley’s insistence, were why she had agreed to spend the Easter break with them, despite her misgivings.

 

Hogwarts, while hostile, was the safest place in the country - it was a mantra that had been continually repeated since her entry into the wizarding world at 11 years old. While the headmaster was no longer the kind, grandfatherly man that she had grown up to trust, as she matured, so had her relationships with her Professors. To her surprise, as she had slowly moved closer to her old self, her Professors were very interesting and personable witches and wizards. She was sure she would have become amicable with all of them at this point in her education, however in this scenario she had to attribute it to her friendship with Professor Snape. He was the one person that she truly felt comfortable around, and the time spent together was something that she had come to cherish. 

 

He had begun invading her personal space more and more in the two months following Valentine’s Day, coinciding with her increasing the amount of time that she spent in her chambers, away from the animosity of peers and certain teachers. Severus would send word via parchment if Dumbledore was to be away, knowing that this would be an ideal time for Carrow’s or blood supremacists to strike. Often, when she would make loud noises, or he would complain to himself about certain students’ essays, they would find themselves working side by side as they ground through their frustrations with a hot drink, and some friendly company.

 

Together, everything seemed possible. She bounced ideas of him. He regaled her with the horrors of teaching imbeciles. The occlumency lessons continued, and Hermione stopped having nightmares almost entirely, being able to consistently clear her mind at a moment’s notice. 

 

This was why she felt no trepidation about napping on the Hogwarts Express while her fellow Gryffindors played exploding snap and gossiped about their classmates. She slept well, her mind easing her with thoughts of comfort, warmth and paper aeroplanes.

 

***

 

The burrow was exactly as she remembered it, and Hermione was grateful for the feeling of a true family home, and the motherly fashion with which Molly Weasley folded her into her arms. She had apparated herself and Ginny, saving Mr or Mrs Weasley the trip, and the pair of them had been waiting outside the house when they arrived. When she entered, she was surprised at how quiet the usually noisy house was without the majority of the Weasleys.

 

Once seated, with a cup of tea and frankly enormous plate of sandwiches in hand, she asked about the others.

 

“How’re the boys?”

 

Mrs Weasley sighed, and began fluffing pillows intently while Arthur answered.

 

“They’re all away, I’m afraid. Bill and Fleur have retreated to a safe house in Cornwall, while Fred, George and Ron are on the run - separately, mind. The twins are together with their friend Lee, and Ron is with Harry. Charlie is still in Romania, and Percy, well…”

 

Molly Weasley burst into tears.

 

“I’m so sorry Mrs Weasley,” Hermione said sympathetically. “I’m sure he’ll come back soon, it’s probably just pride at this point…”

 

Ginny clutched her mum tightly in a hug, as she continued to weap in ernest.

 

Hermione couldn’t help realising that she’d only been in the house around ten minutes, and she’d already caused Molly to cry. She sat awkwardly, knowing that there was nothing she could say that would make the situation any better. Thankfully, Mr Weasley took mercy on her, and distracted from the stale and unpleasant topic.

 

“So, how’s Hogwarts, Hermione? Managing to catch up on your studies?”

 

Ginny snorted over her mother’s shoulder. “She’s doing fine. Learned most of the course content already.”

 

“Actually, I’m doing well in Potions and Arithmancy,” Hermione told him modestly. “Not so good in Herbology though - Neville really is the star of the show.”

 

Molly blew her nose on a tissue. “Oh that’s wonderful! Augusta must be so proud!”

 

Ginny smiled and released her. “Even bought him a posh pair of dragonhide gloves.”

 

“I remember she was so worried about what he’d do when he left Hogwarts.”

 

Hermione grinned widely. “Professor Sprout has taken him on for a research project.”

 

Molly gasped, and rose to her feet in a flurry. “I really must write to Augusta and send my congratulations!”

 

“Well handled, ladies,” Arthur said happily. “That will keep Molly busy for quite a while! 

 

Now. Have you heard from the boys recently?”

 

Hermione’s mouth went dry, but Ginny brimmed with energy. “Oh, yes! Ron has sent me a couple of messages, just tacked on to the end of Harry’s, really. And Harry sent me the most  _ beautiful _ Valentine. Honestly, I never knew that he could be so poetic…”

 

She continued for quite a while, her father looking uncomfortable and dumbstruck. “Well then,” he managed to interrupt. “I’m very happy that they’re doing well. It has been difficult, you know, not knowing where they are or what they’re up to.”

 

Ginny nodded quickly. “It is so hard. I can never write back, in case the owl is spotted. It is so very frustrating…”

 

Luckily, Molly returned joyously to the room, still singing Neville’s praises. Hermione looked at the clock. Only four hours or so until she could plead off tired, and retire to bed.

 

***

 

It was strange to be staying at the Burrow in a different room from Ginny. For years, the house had been full to capacity, and the two girls had grown close during the times that they had spent staying there together. It was, Hermione had always thought, like having a weeks’ long sleepover, something that she’d never done prior to Hogwarts. In fact, she hadn’t truly managed to make any friends before Harry and Ron, and they weren’t exactly people that she could take to about crushes, novels, beauty or, well, anything but quidditch.

 

She lay back in the bed that once belonged to Percy, feeling nostalgic for the times passed. She felt that it was fitting in a way; she wasn’t sure she could be that girl, who had let Ginny paint her nails pink with a mixture of excitement and horror. She wasn’t the same girl who had excitedly told the only friend that she could about Viktor Krum.

 

Come to think of that, she wasn’t the same girl who had experienced the quiet crush on the far-from-ordinary man. But then, her tastes always had leaned towards the un-ordinary. Or, perhaps, the  _ extraordinary _ . 

 

And now, now… Who would want her now? They, Hermione thought, would have to be very extraordinary indeed. 

 

Eventually she fell into a deep slumber, tired from the day’s journey, and somewhat comforted by the neat, almost bare room. It suited her perfectly.

 

She woke to the smell of sausages and eggs cooking downstairs, and felt her stomach roil unhappily at the smell. She’d always felt that, even as a child - the smell of food cooking before she’d had a chance to wake up always made her feel queasy. 

 

She quickly pulled on a jumper over her pyjamas, knowing that the Weasleys wouldn’t yet be dressed either, and headed down to the kitchen. A chorus of three happy voices met her, and Hermione smiled sleepily.

 

“Good morning,” she greeted in her thick morning voice. “I hope everyone slept well?”

 

“Better than I’ve slept in bloody ages!” Ginny grinned wildly, her eyes wide awake despite her hair looking as though it hadn’t seen a brush in a very long time. She waved a piece of toast in the air in her enthusiasm. “No dorm mates! No one sneaking in late at night, no early rises to go to the bathroom…”

 

Hermione laughed softly. “I’ll have to agree with you on that one - I slept very soundly last night,” she turned to the older Weasleys. “Thank you both again for having me to stay - I always feel very at home here.”

 

“Oh, hush!” Mrs Weasley clucked, placing a bowl of fruit and yogurt in front of the younger woman before pulling her into a tight hug and kissing her cheek. “You’re one of my children, here. You and Harry both!”

 

Hermione blushed externally, and lowered her eyes to her breakfast as she tried to ignore the latter part of Mrs Weasley’s lovely proclamation. She had almost finished her food when Ginny spoke up.

 

“Say Mum? Dad?”

 

“Yes, Ginny?” Mr Weasley replied. “What is it, love?”

 

“Did Ron and Harry leave anything here? Or send word about anything?”

 

“Leave anything here?” Mrs Weasley responded. “Other than some of their less useful possessions, no, I don’t think so dear. What is it that you’re looking for?”

 

Ginny fiddled with the pot of jam, avoiding the eyes of the table’s other occupants. “It’s just that Harry said to expect a surprise while home for Easter. I’m sure it’s nothing, and it’s not like he can always send letters and such anyway, I was just hoping…”

 

“You know what, Ginny dear?” Mrs Weasley patted her daughter on the hand. “You only arrived yesterday. I’m sure that if he’s able to, he’ll be in contact with you before the holiday is over. And if not - then soon after. He’s a lovely boy, Ginny.”

 

“I know, Mum,” Ginny muttered irritably. “It’s not that I’m insecure about it. I was just looking forward to having some contact again.”

 

“Be patient,” Arthur added. “There will be plenty of time to spend together when this horrible business is all over and done.”

 

Hermione sighed. “”When’ can be a week or an eternity.” 

 

The whole table turned towards her, and she realised that perhaps she had said that last thought out loud. The faces were grave, but she was met with respect from Mr and Mrs Weasley.

 

They smiled at her joyously, an expression of  _ pride _ . Hermione smiled back.

 

“Well,” said Molly. “Let’s hope for something shorter than an eternity, yes?”

 

***

 

They were three days into their relaxed Easter break, playing gobstones when Ginny’s surprise arrived in the form of a loud knock on the door, followed by a very familiar voice that made Hermione’s heart jump. Her and Ginny both lurched to their feet as Mrs Weasley ran to the door, her husband catching her just in time.

 

“Open up, Mum!”

 

Molly reached for the door delightedly, but Arthur kept it closed.

 

“When you were four years old, what did you say to me when your tooth fell out?”

 

Ron growled. “Dad!”

 

“Answer the question, son.”

 

“I asked you if I was going to die.”

 

Ginny burst out laughing, and finally the door was opened to find the tall redhead flushing awkwardly. “Fred and George told me I would, you know.”

 

Another voice behind him snorted, and Hermione froze. “Because Fred and George are the most reliable of sources.”

 

“HARRY!” Ginny shrieked, pushing past her brother and throwing herself into the arms of her partner. “Oh, this is one HELL of a surprise.”

 

They kissed, and Hermione turned away to stare at the fire, before walking back over to the gobstones set. 

 

_ Don’t look at him yet. Close your mind. Compose yourself. Don’t let him see how much he hurt you. _

 

By the time everyone had been ushered into the living room (oh, it’s so good to see you Harry, dear! You’re looking rather thin!) she had a pleasant smile on her face, leaning forward comfortable towards the boys.

 

“Boys,” she started excitedly. “Tell me everything! Where have you been? Did you go back to Grimmauld, I did tell you not to. Did you find anymore? I’ve been working to find you more information, but I haven’t found anything useful yet, please tell me you’ve made some progress? Did you manage to find anything that would… help?”

 

She put emphasis on the last word, and Ron burst out laughing. “Blimey! Haven’t changed a bit, have you ‘Mione?”

 

His companion however, was looking at her furiously, his eyes burning and his hand clenching tightly around Ginny’s. The redhead took it in stride, leaning adoringly against Harry and stroking his hair.

 

Ron continued, “We’ll have to talk to you in private later, of course. Dumbledore wouldn’t want us telling anything-”

 

“That Dumbledore!”

 

“To someone other than you,” he finished, rolling his eyes at his mother’s interruption. “We heard that you’re back at Hogwarts, doing some research. Knowing you, we’ll have the keys to solving this, soon enough! No one is as clever as you, ‘Mione.”

 

_ Oh, Ron… _

 

He blushed and looked away from her sheepishly, and from the glare that Harry shot his way, Hermione was fairly certain that her hunch was not only the last thing she wanted, but also correct.

 

_ Not now, please not now. _

 

“It would be good if you could research with us, though. I mean, we miss you, we don’t know what to do without you. Harry didn’t say much about why you left, or why you didn’t come back-”

 

“It wasn’t my place to say,” Harry interjected flatly, but his eyes were mocking her. “That’s something that needs sorting out between us two.”

 

“Well, if you two would like to talk,” Mrs Weasley started, but Harry waved off her offer.

 

“Thank you, Mrs Weasley, but maybe it would be better if I talked to Hermione later? We’ve only just got home, and I haven’t seen Ginny in so long.”

 

“Oh, no, of course! Let me just get us all some tea, later is better…”

 

Hermione felt the sinking feeling writhe inside her, and put all of her concentration into the blissful calm that she’d experienced with Severus.

 

Later, indeed.

  
  



	16. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An altercation takes place, breaking friendships and returning Hermione to her true home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, another 'not nice' chapter I'm afraid. Also, if you're squeamish about such things, then I'm surprised you've stuck with me so far.
> 
> Warning for sexual assault.

Later, as it turned out, was two days later. Harry was on his best behaviour throughout, holding Ginny close, and talking to her family as if their union was already a foregone conclusion. Looking at him and his redhead love, Hermione thought that maybe it was. He treated her wonderfully and, if her face was anything to go by, Ginny would feel like the most precious woman in the world. She was alight with excitement and joy, giving off enough energy to fill the empty spaces in the Weasley home. 

 

After the first night of the boy’s stay had passed, Hermione had felt very afraid when she left her space to go down for breakfast. She’d walked slowly, almost silently, with a thudding heart and wide eyes flicking all around. She felt as though she were in a horror movie, with ominous silence preluding her being taken into a monster’s cave. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, and entered the brightly lit kitchen, relief washed over and through her, leaving her confused about why she had been scared at all.

 

Molly was already outside the house, front door open, hanging out the laundry in the warm April air. Arthur Weasley had left for work early, as he had informed them that he would the night before. In fact, the only person in the kitchen at that moment was Ron, glorious Ron, looking much the same as he always had, and yet at the same time, so much more.

 

With the extra height and the lean frame, he looked like Fred and George, and it was a beautiful thing to finally be able to see him as a man - as she could perhaps have predicted he would someday look, without her image being clouded by being in proximity for so much of their lives. He was a little worse for wear, it was true, his clothes scuffed with stains and worn through from time on the run. Molly would patch them up, she was sure - the woman had managed to keep hand-me-downs going all the way from Bill down to Ron, so long as the twin’s hadn’t caused them to explode in a prank or ‘experiment’. 

 

He cocked a smile, the charming boyish smile that belonged to the eleven year old that Hermione had met on the train. She couldn’t help but to rush over to him, to pull him into a tight hug before helping herself to some orange juice. 

 

Food was already in pans on the oven, held under stasis, and the pair sat side by side as they waited for the rest of the family to join them for breakfast.

 

“So, how are you? How have you been doing out there?” Hermione asked, continuing their stunted conversation from the day before. “Have you been okay with, with  _ that _ .”

 

Ron nodded, his eyes sparkling as he handed her a pouch that was hidden underneath his shirt. She felt the weight as her hand closed around it, and frowned.

 

“Ron, did you-?”

 

“No, ‘Mione. Trust me, you’ll be the one to figure that out. But I thought, while we’re here and at home, I could take it out of the pouch, to get a break from it, you know? It’s hidden in my room upstairs.”

 

“Then why are you wearing the pouch then?”

 

He looked quickly to the door frame before returning his focus to her. “I’ve been keeping it in the pouch whenever it’s my turn to watch it - to try and protect myself from it, you know? Harry doesn’t. He just wears it on his skin. So if I’ve got the pouch on, then he’ll think I have hold of it. He… he got pretty shirty with me one time when I took it off to have a wash.”

 

Hermione lost herself in her juice glass, body tensed. “He is very...protective of it.”

 

Ron nodded eagerly, leaning towards her, and placing his hand on her arm. “He is! It isn’t just me? He seems really attached to it. I know that sounds stupid. But what if it’s like the diary? The diary completely took over Ginny. What if the necklace is doing that too?”

 

One look at him showed Hermione the hope in his eyes, and it caused an ache inside of her to squash it. “But Ron, if it were the locket, why didn’t it affect you and me the same way? We were watching it in equal shifts.”

 

Ron shrugged. “I was away from it for a while, wasn’t I? And since I’ve been back I haven’t had it against my bare skin. You’re probably the strongest of the three of us anyway…”

 

He flushed and smiled at her, in a shy and loopy way that she’d only ever seen him look at Fleur and Lavender while at Hogwarts. His hand was still on her arm, and she awkwardly pulled it away in the pretense of straightening out her hair.

 

“I don’t know about that, Ron,” she said. “But it’s definitely something I’ll try and find out about - there must be a reason why it has more impact on some people than others.”

 

At that moment Molly Weasley came in, empty laundry basket in hand and with far more energy than most people could muster in the morning. “Ron, dear, wake up Harry will you? And then go check in on Ginny - we can’t have everyone sleeping the day away!” 

 

“Yes, Mum.” Ron stood from his chair slowly, clicking his back as he stretched. 

 

“Would you like me to help with anything, Mrs Weasley?” Hermione asked politely. 

 

“Oh, no problem, my dear. You should call me Molly, love. You’ve been a part of this family long enough!”

 

Hermione blushed, and smiled widely, accepting this indication of her perceived adulthood. “Thank you, Molly.”

 

Yet… Molly’s gaze flicked between her and Ron when her son came back into the kitchen, Harry in tow.  The association was very… unwelcome, and Hermione was happy with the distraction that came from The Boy Who Lived entering for the first meal of the day.

 

“Good morning, Mrs Weasley!” he sang, putting an arm around her as she pulled him in for a hug. 

 

“Molly, please dear!” She ruffled his hair, and looked back to the doorway.

 

“Ginny said she’d be a few minutes,” Ron supplied. “Thought she was going to hex me…”

 

Molly chuckled and placed a pot of coffee on the table beside a pot of tea, a stack of plates and a pile of cutlery. “I’m glad to hear it, dear. Ginny always has been very headstrong…”

 

“Glad to hear it?!” Ron shrieked at his mother. “You’d be happy if she hexed me, would you?”

 

Mrs Weasley huffed. “Of course not. I’m very happy that she is asleep in her own bed. We all know what young women can be like, and with Ginny being so confident…”

 

“Nothing would happen, Mrs Weasley.” Harry interjected firmly. “I would never put Ginny in that sort of position.”

 

“Oh, I know you wouldn’t, love. You’re such a good boy. I simply wouldn’t put it past my daughter to allow her hormones to get the best of her, growing up with six brothers…”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“... and it really is awful the way girls these days get into all sorts of shenanigans, removing everything sacred from the act of bonding…”

 

“Mum! What’re you saying about me and my brothers? You know, the rest of your children?”

 

“... and it isn’t the same for boys, of course. It’s so much more precious for women. A virgin’s blood can only be given once…”

 

“No one uses that these days anyway!” Ron yelped.

 

Hermione piped up hurriedly before the discussion could move on. “Use it for what?”

 

Mrs Weasley clucked, and placed some toast and a banana on a plate in front of her. “You see, you aren’t even taught anymore how useful it can be. I know your parents are muggles, Hermione dear, but someone at Hogwarts should have told you. The loss of a girl’s virginity is a serious matter. It has healing capabilities on the man to whom it is bestowed, and creates a magical bond for life. It is one of the rarest, most beautiful forms of magic, so sacred that it should be guarded until you accept a soul bond with someone. Why, so many witches these days are running around with a bond to someone they don’t even have contact with! They won’t even know why, but they’ll feel that something is missing.”

 

Tears welled up in the woman’s eyes, and she dabbed them away delicately. “It’s awful, really. How very awful. I can’t understand why the school doesn’t tell you such things...”

 

“What exactly does this have to do with blood?” Hermione asked flatly.

 

“Magic flows through your blood!” Molly told her, reaching forward and grabbing her hand. “You are very lucky, my dear, to be such a pure young lady. Your magic can only fuse with one other person. I remember when my mother told me, as soon as I had experienced my first menses. She told me and my cousins the stories when we were young - her sister wasn’t the sort to talk of such things, you see. But mother wanted us all to be prepared before we went started to develop romantic interests. It is of such importance.”

 

Ginny yawned loudly as she rolled into the kitchen glad in her pink fluffy dressing gown. “Again, mum? C’mon we’ve all had the talk three thousand times now…”

 

Molly huffed and stood to put some bacon and eggs onto a plate for Ginny. “Don’t be so flippant, Ginny. I’ve told you because it’s important, and I won’t have you degrading yourself in any way. Your brothers have had the talk to, because they will treat their future wives with respect. Look at your brother. Happily married, to that veela girl mind, but happy all the same. Their children will be blessed by the fusing of their magic. It bodes well for them and the family that they’re starting.”

 

Ginny snorted. “That veela girl? I thought you liked Phlegm now, mum?”

 

Molly whipped the back of her head with a teatowel. “Do not call her that name, Ginny Weasley! She is a wonderful match for your brother - clever and beautiful, the pair of them. You, on the other hand, need to work on your manners.”

 

Breakfast continued in the same vein until everyone was finally full, and Hermione could escape in the form of showering and readying herself for the day.

 

She took her shower hot, hotter than she had in awhile. The redness had cooled, and her skin was less dry than it had been in the height of her nightmares. Now, the heat felt pleasantly soothing, rubbing her body that felt to her like ice.

 

She had never considered that virginity would be different in the muggle world to the magical one. She’d never considered that there may be some truth to the general archaic and misogynistic beliefs that had floated around her - why would she have? Her parents were educated, and her knowledge of bodily anatomy was sound.

 

So why was it called virgin’s blood? A large number of women didn’t bleed when they first had sex… Hermione frowned.

 

She had bled. She had bled a lot. Was it different for witches than muggles? How could she know? Had the blood come from the act itself, or from violence? She knew her hymen had the usual form of hole in it - she had menstruated with no problems. She knew that it should wear away with time, and there was no reason to really cause bleeding while stretching for a partner. But still - she didn’t know enough.

 

Her mother had given her a basic form of talk when she returned home after becoming enamoured with Viktor Krum. But, it was basic. They covered birth control, and being emotionally ready. Her mother had offered to write to her any time she needed if she wanted to talk. She told her that she would arrange to come up to Scotland at any time should her little girl need to see her mother.

 

Hermione’s eyes stung. She’d never been told anything about a magical bond formed through sex. Her mother wouldn’t have know - who would she have been able to trust to tell her? How could she have known that her body was now broken - that she’d never be able to form that lifelong connection that kept the Weasley’s happy and their children blessed, and would be right that moment doing the same for Bill and Fleur?

 

She couldn’t know. And no one had told her. Here she was, after all that had happened, realising that she still felt truly alone.

 

***

 

Ron had been particularly gentlemanly towards her after that, rising from his seat when she entered the living room, scrubbed raw and dressed in clothes to cover as much skin as possible. He didn’t sit again until Hermione took a place on the sofa, book in hand.

 

From the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Molly Weasley nod at her son over her knitting. She brought her book up to her eyes, and forced herself to focus.

 

***

 

Ron was overbearing for the rest of the day, pouring her tea and passing her dishes without her asking to during dinner. In any other situation, she would appreciate the change that had come over her childhood friend, but for that moment it felt constricting. She felt as though she, under the watchful eye of the Weasley family, had found herself in the plot of some historical drama, forced along a path that she had not chosen, simply for the fault of being a woman. It was a relief when the day came to a close and she could return to her bed with a forced smile and a quiet ‘goodnight’ to the family that had so readily taken her in.

 

She pulled a pillow over her head, and morosely wished for a vial of dreamless sleep as she shut out the noises coming from the rest of the house.

 

_ “You’re worth nothing,” the voices hissed as the hands scrabbled over her naked flash, nails running over her nipples and rough fingers grasping at her hips. Hands pulled at her hair, and stroked at her cheek, and Hermione whimpered with a mixture of fear and delight. She didn’t understand what was happening, but she knew that she didn’t hate it. It felt good to be the centre of this attention, to be wanted by these voices and hands that melted together in her mind, failing to create a coherent form.  _

 

_ “This is all that you’re good for, mudblood.”  _

 

_ A hand squeezed her breast roughly, while another one grabbed her jaw and pulled her mouth open. She shook her head, whimpering at the treatment.  _

 

_ “Please…” she whimpered. “Please…” _

 

_ “Please what?” the voices asked. _

 

_ Please use me _

 

_ Please want me _

 

_ Please hurt me _

 

_ Please. Just want to have me. Broken as I am. _

 

_ The voices laughed, and Hermione felt tears prick her eyes before soft hands pulled her close, soft lips hovered above her flushed skin… _

 

A creak of the floorboards and a hand on her doorknob roused Hermione from her stimulating dream. Her thighs felt damp, and her body was flushed all over. Sweat plastered her hair to her head, her pulse racing with confusion, and desire and fear.

 

The doorknob began to twist, and Hermione quickly sit upright, pulling her duvet with her and lighting the dark room with a flick of her wand.

 

The door slowly crept open, a millimeter at a time until Hermione could see a tuft of untidy black hair, and one tired green eye poking in to look at her through the gap.

 

“Hermione?” the voice whispered. “Can I come in?”

 

She clenched the blankets tighter, remembering the last visit that she had received from him in the middle of the night. 

 

“Harry,” she started wearily. “Please, could this wait until the morning?”

 

“No.” His voice was steel, and Hermione gasped loudly, whimpering slightly as the door opened fully and then closed again in the same quiet manner. “I need to talk to you  _ now _ .”

 

She tried her best to compose herself, clearing her mind and sitting straighter. She look at him with hard eyes, flat without the motion that she had pushed away from herself, to protect herself.

 

“What do you want to talk about, Harry?” She lit the candles around the room, finishing with the lantern on her bedside table. The part of her locked inside, hiding in a small box in her mind, breathed a sigh of relief at the warm glow that filled the room. Outwardly, she showed nothing. 

 

“What exactly cannot wait until a reasonable time of day?”

 

Fire flickered through his gaze hauntingly, and a cruel grimace twisted his mouth. “This,” he said, and was immediately upon her.

 

His lips hit her own forcefully as he grabbed her hands, pushing them above her head and bringing the small Hermione hiding away into a state of full force panic. Inside she was crying, screaming, begging to be left alone. Pleading, telling him that she would be better, she could do better, she had other uses than this. She could be good for something, anything. Anything but this…

 

Outwardly, she glared, and pulled her hands free with a force that she couldn’t have expected herself to muster. She kicked him off of her, and silenced the door quickly.

 

“What?” he hissed at her, grasping at his kneecap. “What the fuck was that for?”

 

“For attacking me. For coming into  _ my _ space, interrupting  _ my _ rest, and trying to commit a crime in the home of your future family. You need to listen to me, Harry James Potter-”

 

“Or what?” He asked. “What? You’re going to tell them what happened to us? After what Molly told you earlier today? What, you want everyone to know that you’re no longer a virgin? Do you want to hurt Ginny? That’s all that you would achieve, Hermione.”

 

She laughed coldly. “You mean you don’t want them to find out that you’re a rapist? I may be ashamed, but I assure you that what you would experience is something far, far worse.”

 

He raised his eyebrows and lurched towards her, spit hitting her cheek as he growled. “I’m not a rapist. It wasn’t me, Hermione, you know that I’d never do that.”

 

“Then what exactly did you come in here for, just now? What would have happened if I hadn’t stopped you?”

 

He scowled. “If you can stop me now, then you could have stopped me before. I couldn’t stop - I had no control over what I was doing. It wasn’t me, it wasn’t my fault. It was the horcrux.”

 

“So that excuses you for raping me, does it? You  _ hurt _ me, Harry. You haven’t even fucking apologised. Get out of my room. Now!”

 

He shook his head, and grabbed her hair to force her to meet his gaze. “It’s all about you, is it? I didn’t choose to fuck you, Hermione! It was the horcrux - I was raped, too.”

 

“And now?” she asked. “Why the fuck are you in my room now?”

 

“The urge, it’s returned. Probably because I’m around you, it seeks to hurt you. It doesn’t like you, Hermione..”

 

“It is a  _ locket _ , Harry. A horcrux. I don’t think it is particularly built to like anyone.”

 

“It doesn’t like you, though. You’re a mudblood. I know that you’re my friend, but you’re a mudblood, you’re different from the rest of us. I think the locket is trying to teach me, to show me what I can do, and how powerful I can become…”

 

“Can you hear yourself? You’re an absolute lunatic! Let go of me RIGHT NOW!”

 

She pulled herself free, withdrawing to the other side of the room and leaving the man standing stock still, a fistful of her hair in his hand. “You’re deluded. You’ve let it get inside your head. Harry, you need to listen to me, you need help.”

 

“I do need help,” he agreed. “But not in the way you want to. I need  _ you _ to help me, Hermione. I need you to help me, to help me protect Ginny. I can’t lose her, Hermione, she means everything to me.”

 

“So what do you want me to do?”

 

She stayed statue still against the wall as Harry thought through his response. His pleas made no sense to her, his reaction to the horcrux made no sense. If the horcrux wanted to hurt her, why did he need her to help him protect Ginny?

 

“I need you to help me… to get rid of this urge?”

 

“What?”

 

He reached into his pyjamas and pulled his cock free. “I need you to deal with this. I need to have  _ you  _ or the urge will grow, I’ll go to Ginny…”

 

“And what?” Hermione asked snarkily. “Worried that your love would say no? That really isn’t my problem, Harry.”

 

He laughed at her, grasping his cock back and forth as he eyed her hungrily. “Oh, but it is. Would you risk Ginny losing her virgin’s blood? I mean, you probably didn’t have it anyway - it’s only witches, not muggles. And you aren’t a  _ real _ witch - your parents are muggles. So it probably didn’t hurt you anyway.”

 

_ Oh, it did. So very, very much. _

 

“So you think I should fuck you to protect your girlfriend’s virginity?”

 

He smirked at her, and she recoiled internally as he stalking round the bed, fisting never ceasing. “Oh but it will also protect your friendship, Hermione. Would Ginny forgive you for having sex with me in the forest? And what about Ron, Hermione, what would he think? This only affects  _ us. _ Why would you bring anyone else into this? And when all of this is over, when You-Know-Who is dead and the world is right again, things will be back as they were before. We can just accept this as an act of war, to protect those we love and care about. Only you can help me, Hermione. Only you.”

 

She could feel her resolve wavering, her eyes fixed upon the vicious weapon that her green-eyed tormentor held. She remembered the pain, she remembered how much it hurt, and how much she fought it.

 

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if she didn’t fight. Maybe if she just gave in, maybe then he would be kind to her. Maybe it would feel… okay. Maybe he was right - this would all become a thing of the past, and no one would ever have to hear of it. 

 

Then, a fist connected with her jaw, slamming her head back against the wall. A hand covered her mouth as Hermione let out a muffled shriek. 

 

“Drop the spell, Hermione.” He ordered. “Drop the spell, and help me silently, mudblood.”

 

Crying silently, she dropped the spell, and he pulled her down to her knees as she tried to keep quiet. 

 

“You’ll need to do this very well, slut,” he whispered. “Can’t have you waking up the whole house now, can we? Wouldn’t want anyone to find you in this position.”

 

He chucked her wand onto the bed and used his -hers- to bind her hands behind her back and stick her legs to the floor. “Open your mouth.”

 

She did so obediently, keeping her ears open for any sign of movement, of being caught in such an incriminating position. He immediately placed his appendage inside, and Hermione closed her mouth around it, loose enough to allow him to thrust.

 

“Good whore,” he crooned. “You’re being very good, helping your friend like this. Ginny will never know what you’ve done for her. Keeping her pure. She’ll enjoy our wedding night, she truly will.”

 

He thrust back and forth, his rhythm continual and hurried. “I’m still not sure if rose petals on the bed is cliche or romantic, but I’ve got time to decide. You can help me when we’re engaged - you’ll probably be her bridesmaid…”

 

Hermione focused in her head, listing all of the potions ingredients and uses that she could draw from her neatly catalogued mental lists. He quickly ceased whispering to her, instead drawing in rapturous breaths, hands digging tight into her jaw and hair as his rhythm became erratic. He held her to him as he finished, spurting down her throat so that she choked.

 

“Swallow,” he hissed, and when she did so, he tucked his cock back into his pyjamas and walked out of her room as if nothing had happened. A few minutes later, Hermione left, too.

 

She shut herself into the bathroom, barely pushing the door closed before she fell over the toilet bowl and vomited, the taste of his cum and the rising bile mixing to form a deadly solution in the back of her throat. She gagged and retched long after anything resembling food had been removed, resting her cheek against the blissfully cold toilet seat. She sobbed quietly into a clump of toilet roll held in one hand, a patch of her scalp throbbing as her walls came crashing down. She didn’t know how long she was sat there, crying and retching as her walls broke in and her internal house formed a state of chaos.

 

She did know though, when a friendlier voice knocked on the door and asked if she was okay before entering. She also felt when the friend touched her face and gasped in shock. She heard the voice cry ‘Hogwarts!’ as he apparated her away. She saw the glimmer of a jack russell patronus heading towards the castle.

 

And she felt the comfort of a familiar smell and warmth as Ronald Weasley passed her, cradled like a child, from his arms into the arms of a man he’d never before trusted; Severus Snape.

  
  



	17. Hard Truths to Hear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Professor McGonagall is introduced to the circle of trust, and familiarities are born.

Hermione didn’t feel the cold the hit her through her thin pyjamas as she was carried up to the castle; she was so tired that she immediately fell into a deep slumber the moment that her head hit a soft pillow. She didn’t even notice the blanket that was pulled up over her tired form. What she did notice, however, was the cracking of the fire and the soft light that slid into her bedroom when she awoke.

 

Her entire body felt heavy, sore and exhausted from her traumatic experience the night before, and she let out a huff of breath as she pulled herself from her warm cocoon. Fuzzy memories were swimming through her head but refusing to form a coherent picture. She remembered a familiar man, a friend, carrying her up to the castle, but she couldn’t quite place what had happened. She knew that Harry had requested her ‘services’ of course, but the event itself, and everything following it, was a blur.

 

Her shoulders cracked as she rolled them back, and it was in a clumsy, groggy manner that she opened the door to her living room.

 

The room was lit only with the fire, giving a soft, homely ambience that was calming to her nerves. Everything in her chambers was the way that she had left it, and she felt both reassured and slightly out of place looking at the books spread out over her desk and the coat thrown haphazardly beside it.

 

When her eyes lit upon her sofa, she jumped. A tall, dark haired figure was spread out of the comfortable furniture, a crease in his brow and a blanket pulled half over his chest. His shoes had been removed, and his breathing was slow and even as she cautiously approached. It was bizarre, to see the usually domineering presence of the man changed into something much more fragile.

 

She gently pulled the blanket over him fully, and transfigured the small cushion into a soft pillow under his head. She then returned to her room, to join him in sleep.

 

***

 

She had no idea what time it was when she woke again, but this time the light was bright, filling her bedchamber with a golden glow. She could smell the mown grass drifting through her open window, and she could hear the children playing outside - those who hadn’t left for the holiday.

 

She could see her unexpected guest leaning against her door frame with an unreadable expression and a steaming mug in hand.

 

“About time you woke up,” he said. “I’ve been standing here for a good five minutes.”

 

She frowned. “Standing there watching me sleep? Not creepy at all.”

 

“You’re one to talk.”

 

Hermione blushed as she remembered her actions from the night before. Before she could comment, he strode forward in his socked feet and handed her the mug of chamomile tea. She inhaled deeply, luxuriating in the smell of the calming tea mixed with honey.

 

“Thank you.”

 

He hesitated a moment before taking a seat at the end of her bed and fidgeting awkwardly.

 

“That was quite an unexpected event last night, Miss Granger. You’re lucky I was in the castle.”

 

She looked up at him through her eyelashes, holding her cup close to her face. “I’m sorry, I really don’t know what actually happened last night. I remember being at the burrow, and then everything is a bit on the blurry side.”

 

“Ronald Weasley brought you back here,” Severus told her neutrally. “He told me that something had happened at the Burrow, and that he thought it might be to do with Mr Potter.”

 

Hermione flinched. “We had an altercation of sorts.”

 

“I see. You arrived with a face full of bruises, and a large chunk of your hair missing. I’m assuming this was something more than an exchange of heated words.”

 

“It was.”

 

Despite the conversation at hand, and the events that had preluded it, she felt oddly blank. A small part of her realised that she ought to be emotional, that she should be feeling something. A rather larger part of Hermione was welcoming the strange calm.

 

“Would you like to talk about what happened?”

 

“Not particularly.”

 

He took a deep breath. “Hermione, I think you need to talk about it. I need to know if I should get Madam Pomfrey to heal you anywhere.”

 

“There’s no need,” she replied. “Thank you for healing me. All I have left is mildly bruised shoulders and an incredibly painful throat - I’m certain that even my novice understanding of healing should be enough to cope with that.”

 

He flinched at her declaration, and Hermione leaned forwards, meeting his gaze in an attempt to reassure him. “Honestly Professor, I’m absolutely fine.”

 

“You shouldn’t be!” he snapped. “You’ve been assaulted, _again_ , and you’re telling me you’re fine. Be honest.”

 

“But I am fine,” she said, puzzled. “It was nowhere near as bad as last time.”

 

He threw his hands up into the air and lurched to his feet. “Don’t base fine on a relative concept! Something bad happening is still bad - it doesn’t matter how much worse you’ve endured! You shouldn’t have experienced this at all!”

 

She sighed. “I’m sorry Professor Snape, but all experiences are weighed up against other ones. There are people dying, people being raped, people being put under the cruciatus curse. I find it difficult to see this event as a particularly big deal.”

 

“Well, it is! It’s disgusting.”

 

With that, her heart sank, and she felt the emptiness inside her grow into an aching abyss to which she had no response. She simply stared down at her tea, trying to formulate a correct sentence, a correct response to what he was telling her.

 

But, she had none. Nothing. Nothing at all.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

 

“Don’t be.”

 

The words were clipped and harsh, and despite his quieted tone Hermione could tell that he was still fuming. His whole body was rigid, his jaw set and arms crossed over his chest. The only word that Hermione could bring to mind to describe him was _petulant_. She forced down the smile that threatened to penetrate.

 

“Do you really want to know what happened?”

 

He closed his eyes. “If you feel able and willing to share, then yes. I would.”

 

She took a large gulp of tea and paused to put together her thoughts.

 

“I didn’t know that Harry and Ron were going to be at the Burrow. I thought it was just going to be Ginny and myself - I wouldn’t have gone otherwise. The boys arrived a couple of days later. Molly and Arthur were delighted to have them to stay, and Ginny was of course over the moon. To be honest, it was nice to check in and see how they were doing.

 

Ginny and Harry were staying in different rooms, as Molly doesn’t believe in sex before marriage - due to the Virgin’s Blood, you see. I’d never heard of it, so Molly explained it to me. That’s probably why Harry came to me when he was struggling again, you see. He didn’t want to dishonour Ginny. So instead he came to me, and told me that it’s the horcrux that he’s carrying - we found a piece of Voldemort’s soul, and have been carrying it around until we can find a way to destroy it.”

 

To her relief, he seemed to realise that this was not the time to ask, and so she continued.

 

“This time, he just wanted to fuck my throat, so that’s why it’s painful. At least he didn’t rape me again. It was just really uncomfortable and unwanted. I fought him - I thought he was going to penetrate me. That’s why I got the injuries. I got into a bit of a flap afterwards, and had a panic attack in the bathroom. That’s where Ron found me, and apparently realised that I needed to come home. Thank you for being there to look after me.”

 

Severus Snape looked, for want of a better word, gobsmacked. His jaw was slack, and his eyes were burning with fury.

 

“I’m too furious to talk about this right now,” he told her. He then swept from the room, and Hermione heard a moment later as her chamber door slammed shut. Clearly, he was sickened by her.

 

 _Sickened by her servicing Harry,_ she thought. The empty hole split inside her, and a quiet keening sound of pain oozed out of her as she doubled over and placed her forehead against her hands, still clasped tightly around her tea.

 

He was horrified, furious. Too sickened to even stay in her presence. She could see why - she was sickened by herself. She whimpered and squeezed her eyes tight, but the tears and relief wouldn’t come. She was held in a sort of limbo, needing to let it out by wholly unable to. She didn’t know how long had passed before a knocking sounded on her door.

 

_Come to tell me how disgusting I am, no doubt._

 

She tried to ignore it, but the knocking only became more and more insistent until she finally opened the door to see not only Snape, but also Professor McGonagall. The stern Scottish woman immediately swept her into a hug, holding her tightly in her arms.

 

“Oh, lass” she choked. “Severus has told me what happened. Can we come in and have a talk?”

 

Unable to speak, Hermione nodded and stood back for her to enter.

 

She sat primly on the sofa, hands crossed in her lap and fully dressed in her teaching attire. Severus Snape, on the other hand, removed his outer robe and rolled up his sleeves before sitting in the armchair to allow the women their closeness. Spiffy was called to provide a tea service, and Minerva dabbed a hankie to her eyes continuously as they took their refreshments.

 

“I am so, so sorry, Miss Granger,” Minerva began. “I cannot apologise enough for being so unaware of your plight when you returned to Hogwarts.”

 

Hermione’s eyes widened in confusion. “I thought the Headmaster told the main Order that I was attacked?”

 

“He gave us none of the details, my dear. In fact, he made it sound like a minor incident.”

 

Hermione shrugged. “I didn’t want anyone to find out about it.”

 

Professor McGonagall pulled her into another hug. “We could have helped you…”

 

Severus glared at the display. “There’s no point lamenting the past, Minerva. I brought you here to help care for your lion _now_.”

 

The older woman shot a look towards Severus that could only be described as a glare. He shook his head imperceptibly at her, and Minerva focused back to the girl at hand.

 

“Do you have any injuries that we need to take care of?”

 

Snape scowled. “I have already asked her that, Minerva.”

 

“There’s no harm in asking again.”

 

Hermione shook her head. “As I told Professor Snape, I’m absolutely fine.”

 

She fidgeted as her head of house eyed the red, tear tracked cheeks. It was true; it wasn’t as though the event had really upset her. If anything, it was the Potions Master’s response to said events. She didn’t even know why she cared what he thought.

 

“I understand that what has happened is very traumatic-”

 

“You don’t,” Hermione said softly. “You don’t understand.”

 

Her head of house looked utterly distraught. “I am sorry, Miss Granger. Would you like to talk about it?”

 

“As I told Professor Snape, no I wouldn’t.”

 

Severus sighed and ran a finger through his hair. “I believe we could start with a discussion of the myths of Virgin’s Blood? Meanwhile, I am going in search of the Headmaster.”

 

“Like he’ll care,” Hermione muttered. He ignored her comment, and rose to his feet to silently leave the room. He left his outer robe in her chambers, and the brunette’s eyes lit upon it, realising that he was coming back.

 

“Why on earth would you need to hear about Virgin’s Blood, Miss Granger? Did someone coerce you to help them with a so-called “cure” for their ailments?”

 

She shook her head. “No, Professor. In fact, I was told about it by Molly Weasley. She told me that the Virgin’s Blood is very powerful in forming a bond between a witch and a wizard, and that it bodes well for longevity of a relationship as well as providing boons for any offspring.”

 

Professor McGonagall shook her head. “That is a load of utter codswallop, my dear. Virgin’s Blood is a myth, designed to keep women apparently ‘pure’ in order to sate the ego of wizards who quite frankly be grateful for any witch they can get, with that attitude. It is archaic, going back to a time before births were recorded magically. It was spread in order to be certain of paternity, you see. Purebloods in particular were fond of this as it kept their bloodlines supposedly pure. Now, we know that is a load of rubbish as well, but the myth remains along with many others.”

 

Hermione felt her eyes well up once more. “So really, virginity means nothing?”

 

Professor McGonagall shook her head and took in a deep breath. “In terms of magic, it does not. In terms of mind and emotion however, the concept becomes much more entangled. There is still a sanctity of allowing someone to be so intimately close to you. Many people do prefer this to be in a monogamous relationship, but the thing is that the practice is a _choice_. All intimate relations should be by choice, Miss Granger.”

 

She spoke the last sentence very, very softly, but it didn’t stop the burst of pained disappointment that shot through Hermione. Did they believe her too weak to choose for herself? Did they believe that she should have fought harder to protect herself? Maybe they thought that she shouldn’t have used herself to protect her friend. A knock sounded, and Professor McGonagall rose to quickly let Severus back inside.

 

“I know that,” Hermione replied shortly. “I just need time to think things through.”

 

Her head of house patted her on the knee as she and Professor Snape both returned to their seats. “If you need someone to talk to about this, a female perhaps, then I’m happy to provide you with an alternative confident to Professor Snape, here. I know he may be a bit…”

 

“A bit what?” Hermione snapped. “I’m finding the time spent with Professor Snape to be very valuable indeed, Professor. He is very kind and empathetic as well as a good listener. He understands the difference between comfort and meaningless platitudes. I think you should talk with more respect of your colleagues - I’ve certainly never heard him insult you.”

 

She _had_ heard him insult Dumbledore, but that was another matter entirely.

 

Her teachers, both, looked flabbergasted, and it took Minerva several moments to formulate a response. “I apologise for my lack of consideration,” she spoke slowly. “I simply wanted to let you know that I am available, and I do advise that you speak to a woman - if not me, then someone else. Madam Pomfrey, perhaps. There are things that a man won’t understand, or might find difficult to talk about.”

 

Hermione raised an eyebrow in a very Snape-like fashion. “Another archaic belief - and from you, Professor, so soon after discounting the Virgin’s Blood theory? How very hypocritical. You are right that I have a choice, and I would like to be able to use that choice, and I use it to speak to someone that I trust implicitly.”

 

She sighed, and placed her cup on the table. “I’m sorry, Professor. It’s been a very difficult few days for me, and I really wouldn’t usually want to talk to you so familiarly. I’m so very sorry.”

 

“That’s alright, dear. I understand that we all use heated words when in a fit of emotion. You are not the first student to have an outburst in my presence, and you certainly won’t be the last.”

 

Hermione nodded. “Would you mind if I ask you to leave for now, and then maybe have a talk tomorrow? If you’re not busy or anything?”

 

McGonagall smiled. “Of course, Miss Granger. When would suit you?”

 

Hermione frowned, trying to think through any kind of structure for her day. What was the point? Severus seemed to notice this, and cut in very smoothly.

 

“I’m sure Hermione will be able to send word for you when she’s ready.”

 

If Minerva was surprised by his use of Hermione’s name, she didn’t comment as she gathered herself to leave, giving Hermione another tight hug on her way out.

 

***

 

A brief awkward pause fixed by the ordering of a cup of tea, and Severus spoke up shyly, a new emotion to be seen on the man, and one which Hermione found to be incredibly endearing.

 

“Thank you, Miss Granger. Although unnecessary, it was very kind of you to defend me, and I appreciate your trust in me. Not many people do.”

 

“You’re very welcome. More people should.”

 

The tension barely dissipated, but both appeared to feel better about the exchange as they drank yet more tea. Spiffy provided more sandwiches (I live to serve!) and the two nibbled quietly before Severus excused himself to use the bathroom.

 

Hermione giggled, _giggled_ , at the thought of the man using her facilities. It was strange - it wasn’t that the thought gave her any immature joy, it was simply surreal to have the man in her chambers, sitting with her, drinking tea, and now _using her toilet_. A smile must have remained on her face, for his eyes softened as he returned.

 

“Will you be alright if I retire for the night.”

 

She shivered and looked away. “I will… be alright, Professor.”

 

“But?”

 

“But I would prefer it if you stay. I feel very safe with you here. You are a… great comfort to me, Professor.”

 

He nodded. “Tell a single soul about this and I will gut you for potions ingredients.”

 

“I’d expect nothing less,” she grinned. “Would you like something to read?”

 

A lightbulb moment occurred, and he shook his head to clear it. “I asked Septima about your code.”

 

“You did?”

 

He looked rather irritated. “I said I would, did I not?”

 

“You did. Did you find out anything?”

 

“Perhaps,” he smiled slightly. “She said she couldn’t provide much advice without seeing the code itself, however she did tell me of a device located in my Aunt’s attic. I have brought it back with me; Septima has informed me that in the correct hands it may be used to solve almost any code possible. It is rather outdated, but I doubt that will be a problem with this particular text, Miss Granger.”

 

She smirked with mirth before folding her legs up beneath her. “Indeed. And Professor?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Could you maybe call me Hermione, just while we’re in here?”

 

“I think that could be considered improper…”

 

She scoffed. “More improper than the time we spend alone together? Yeah, okay.”

 

“Are you asking me to cease our interactions?”

 

“Absolutely not! I’m simply asking you to use my name in the space where you take your shoes off and use my lavatory.”

 

He thought about it for a moment, and then nodded. “Alright. Hermione.”

 

She nodded back and grinned widely. “Thank you.”

 

They continued talking for hours longer, Hermione’s mood increasing, and the atmosphere much more intimate than it had ever been as her name rolled beautifully off his tongue. He didn’t offer the same liberty, but that was okay.

 

For now, it was very much okay.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry - we're going to catch up with Ron next chapter! As well as progress into the interesting shit...


	18. For want of a future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A huge step is made in regards to Hermione's future, and Albus Dumbledore shows the extent of his manipulative mind.

It was a little after midday that Hermione sent her patronus to inform Minerva that she was ready for visitors. She’d awoken at 9:30, however Severus had required to go and freshen up for the day before returning to have breakfast with her. Both of them silently agreed that it really would not appear proper for the fierce Gryffindor head of house to arrive to the sight of Severus Snape sleep rumpled and still in yesterday’s clothes.

 

They were both seated comfortable, side by side on the sofa, with a tea set for three and a plate of toasted teacakes courtesy of Spiffy. The living room had been returned to its pre-Snape state, as he had elongated the sofa (I’m not sleeping curled up again. Too old for that shit!) and taken hold of the blanket from the night before. Hermione had once again transfigured the cushion into a pillow, though neither of them said anything about it.

 

Hermione was just pouring the perfectly brewed Earl Grey when McGonagall entered, unexpectedly with the Headmaster in toe.

 

“Headmaster,” Hermione said, her eyes narrowing as she rose to her feet. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

 

“That’s quite alright, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore smiled. “I can look after myself fairly well.” 

 

And with that, he transfigured a lump of sugar into a teacup, and reached for the pot. “Do you mind?”

 

She shook her head. “No, not at all. I would’ve asked Spiffy for another cup.”

 

One look at Snape’s face told her that he was feeling just about as happy with Dumbledore’s intrusion as she was.

 

Ordinarily, they would have consumed at least half a cup of tea on pleasantries, but Albus Dumbledore had very different ideas.

 

“I am sorry that you couldn’t find me last night, Severus,” he began, not looking sorry at all. “I was rather indisposed, too many places to be…”

 

Severus gritted his teeth, and his grip on his teacup tightened. “Indeed.”

 

“No matter, no matter! Luckily Professor McGonagall was kind enough to find me this morning and inform me of the situation.”

 

Severus raised an eyebrow. “You mean the situation of which you were already aware?”

 

Hermione squeaked as Dumbledore turned his gaze on her. “I hear, my dear, that there has been an additional trauma to Mr Potter and yourself?”   
  


Mutely, Hermione nodded. She took another sip of tea, and then busied herself with buttering a teacake. “Yes,” she eventually replied. “I assume that Professor McGonagall informed you?”

 

“She did indeed,” Dumbledore said gravely. “I was hoping that we could make sure this wouldn’t affect your learning here, nor your relationship with your teachers. Alas, it appears to not be so…”

 

All three of the room’s remaining occupants glared. 

 

“And why would you hope that, Headmaster?” Severus asked silkily, a dangerous glint in his eye as one eyebrow rose. “When you didn’t inform even Hermione’s head of house about the events that had taken place?”

 

“Oh, my dear boy,” Albus replied. “I told the Order, as you are aware, the details that I felt pertinent for them to know while being sensitive to Miss Granger’s mental state. If she herself has chosen not to disclose the information, then that must be respected. It is a very delicate situation after all…”

 

“The boy should be arrested!” Snape snapped. “Why you haven’t treated this more seriously, I cannot fathom. Are you using children in your campaign now?”

 

“He has been for a while,” McGonagall interjected, looking every bit as venomous as her colleague. “He was grooming Mr Potter for his part a long time.”

 

“Fuck Potter!” Snape hissed. “The boy is a lost cause. Why aren’t you protecting your other students?”

 

He placed a hand on Hermione’s knee as he made his point, and while Minerva didn’t appear to notice, Albus Dumbledore did. As did Hermione, as the blush spread across her cheeks, and prettily down her neck.

 

_ Breathe, Hermione. Breathe. He isn’t going to hurt you. This feeling makes no sense. It’s a kind of nervous energy, adrenaline. But you’re in Hogwarts, and you’re safe… _

 

As if aware of her inner monologue, Snape removed his hand and crossed his arms petulantly.

 

“Ahhh, Severus. To be youthful again, and full of passion. You mustn’t let your hatred of the boy cloud your reasoning, Severus. We will all need to play our part in helping the boy before this war is out.”

 

He looked like he was about to retort, but clearly thought better of it as he mimicked Hermione’s actions with a teacake.

 

“Now, my dear,” Dumbledore turned to Hermione. “I suppose the question now, is what can we do with you. I have already had some thoughts, I must admit, from my conversation with Minerva. But I must ask you, what do you propose? What role would you like to play here?”

 

“A useful one,” she said icily. “And I am not a child, Professor. I am no longer a child in any sense of the word.”

 

“You are all children to me, Miss Granger.” His blue eyes twinkled as he looked to both of his colleagues. “When you reach an age such a mine, your perspective does shift over the years.”

 

Snape muttered something about him becoming senile, which was kindly ignored by everyone in the room. 

 

“Nevertheless, you are correct.” He inclined his head. “You are of age, and able to make your own decisions in terms of staying at Hogwarts and continuing your education, or going to take an active part in our fight against the Dark Lord and his compatriots. I understand that this may be a difficult decision to make, but-”

 

“I choose. Both.” Hermione said firmly. “And if you think that it is a choice  _ between _ rather than a conjunctive possibility then you are utterly deluded. You work here, all three of you, and play your part in this war. Many other order members work in the Ministry of Magic, or as Aurors, or shopkeepers. Occupation and personal life do not impede on the cause. If you are living for the fight alone, then you are not living for the life after it. I  _ will _ have a life after it, experiences be damned. And when the time comes, I will be bloody educated. That is, after all, the point of keeping Hogwarts open, is it not?”

 

Her eyes were steady as they fixed upon the hated man, but inside she was shaking. This was the first time since, since - since  _ the event _ \- that she’d expressed any want of a future, or the possibility of one. It seemed that her fury, at the Headmaster and at the world, was enough to push her into a place of priority in her world; possibly for the first time in her life. She glanced to Severus beside her, and warmed as she caught the quirk of his lips and the look in his eyes that could only be described as pride.

 

Dumbledore simply chuckled merrily and clapped his hands. “Ah, and what else could we expect from such a brilliant young mind? Truly wondrous indeed…”

 

Severus let out what could be best described as a low growl. “Cut to the chase, Albus. You said you already had some ideas?” His lips twisted into a fierce grimace with the last word, but Dumbledore was far from fazed.

 

“Well, my dear boy, I think we can all agree that Miss Granger’s safety is of the utmost importance in this situation,”

 

“Well at least you’re thinking about that now,” Severus muttered.

 

“And we must think forward to her safety at Hogwarts, as well as this divided world we are living in at current.”

 

“Why would we need to think forward in regards to Hogwarts?” Minerva spoke sharply. “She is in no more danger here than our other students. Hogwarts is the safest place in the country.”

 

The Headmaster let out a long sigh. “I am unsure for how long that will remain the case, my dear. As you are aware, our student population is very much half-blood and pureblood at this moment in time. With the influence that Voldemort has over the Ministry, and his growing number of followers, it is only a matter of time before they take Hogwarts entirely. We already have an abomination of education in regards to Defence and Muggle Studies,” he shook his head. “And we really should think forward to when I and likely you, Minerva, are no longer here.”

 

“So what?” Hermione interrupted miserably. “Are you telling me I have to leave, or fall prey to the Death Eaters? I already told you - I do not intend to leave Hogwarts. Hogwarts is my home.”

 

_ The only home I have left,  _ she added silently. 

 

“That is where my plan comes into place, my dear. It is of course very dangerous but very important to the order. I will understand if it is something you aren’t able to do, and we can always find someone else for the job…”

 

_ Someone worthy.  _

 

“Cut to the chase, Albus,” Snape snarled. “What exactly are you proposing?”

 

“Severus, you know how much I value the work you do, and how important it is to our cause.”

 

“And?”

 

“And a time may come when you are unable to fulfill this role that you have played so wonderfully. At that time, we will require someone else to take up the mantle, so to speak….”

 

He let the words hang heavily in the air, sipping his tea as his audience absorbed the meaning of his words. 

 

“You want me to take over from Severus as spy?” Hermione asked quietly while Severus stared widely, radiating shock and fury towards his colleague. Minerva, for her part, looked absolutely dumbfounded. 

 

“Oh no,” Dumbledore chuckled. “ Not take over, not if it can be helped. Simply work with him, as a kind of contingency plan. Should Severus need to retreat, or should he be unable to pass information to us, then we need someone who is already accepted into Voldemort’s ranks, who has learned the methods that Severus has used so ingeniously over the last two decades. In addition, it is important at this time to make sure that the Dark Lord trusts Severus completely and unwaveringly. To have brought someone so close to Harry over to his cause, would be a tremendous feat.”

 

“And how do you expect that to go down?” Snape shouted, rising to his feet in rage. “You’d be asking me to take her to her death! She would be murdered the moment she entered their presence! One look at her would have them itching to draw their wands! Is she so disposable that you would have me bring her into their presence as prey? Would you have me hand her over as some sort of prize? Albus, you ask to much. When will you fucking stop?”

 

“My boy…” Severus flinched at the words. “I am not asking you to take her forward unprepared. I am simply suggesting a few weeks of intense training to prepare her before you bring her forward. Long enough to provide occlumency training and the basics of blood elitism. That is all.”

 

“So you expect me to spend rather inappropriate amounts of time with a student, privately?” He asked sarcastically. “Oh yes, that will look great on my resume when I get to leave this place.”

 

Dumbledore chuckled. “I’m sure your CV can survive this, Severus. And while you have been raging, I am of the opinion that this is Miss Granger’s choice. Should she decline, we can move her to a safe house. What say you, Miss Granger?”

 

She thought quickly. A safe house, or Hogwarts. A seat away from the war, or an active role in fighting for what she believed in. A choice to do what was right, rather than what was easy. The chance to prove that she was more than just a mudblood, that she was a force to be reckoned with. A chance to be powerful, brave, everything that she wanted to be.

 

“I’ll do it.”

 

***

 

Half an hour later, Minerva and Albus had both removed themselves from their chambers - Minerva to drown her sorrows, and the Headmaster to draw up a research agreement for the pair, as a cover for their work together. They would, of course, have to work on this in addition to their other activities.

 

For now though, the pair sat side by side in quiet reflection, trying to understand the monumental decision that had taken place in such a short amount of time. Finally, Hermione reached for his hand, and squeezed it gently in her own.

 

“Thank you, Professor. For standing up for me with Dumbledore.”

 

He flipped his palm and squeezed back. “You’re very welcome. Hermione.”

  
  



	19. Talks with Friends

 

They didn’t, as one might anticipate, spend the next few days discussing the possibilities and the strategies, nor the probability of death for them both. No, instead they carried on in a way that could only be described as vaguely normal. Hermione continued her research in earnest, feeling now more than ever that she needed to prove her worth as a soldier for the light. She spent hours looking through the book with the contraption that she had borrowed from Severus, and he sat reclined beside her marking the essays that he had taken from his students before the break. The only difference now, was the angry comments he would make while slashing through whole sentences with red ink.

 

“Fucking manipulative arsehole.”

 

“Probably has dementia by this point anyway.”

 

“Who the fuck does he think he is?”

 

“Should just finish him off myself. Why wait for Voldemort to do it?”

 

Hermione sighed and rubbed her eyes exhaustedly. 

 

“It’s been three days, Professor. Have you not ran out of steam yet?”

 

“What?” He startled.

 

“I’m fairly certain that you’ve spewed out every insult you can think of, and taught me quite a few new ones as a result. Are you going to pipe down yet?”

 

He scowled menacingly. “Do you want me to leave you to work in peace, little witch?”

 

She sighed and shook her head. “Of course not. I enjoy your company. 

 

Although I can see why some people don’t,” she muttered as an afterthought.

 

His lips twitched, and he seated himself into a more upright position. “Oh, you’ve only just noticed?”

 

“Well you’re making it pretty obviously. Yes, we know the Headmaster is an absolute arse. And, and don’t you disagree with me, we do know that he isn’t senile. He’s just very, very manipulative. There’s no point complaining about it for days on end,” she replied tartly. “If you’re going to continue like a dog with a bone, I don’t mind telling you to take the filthy thing outside.”

 

He snorted. “Are you calling the Headmaster a filthy bone, Hermione?”

 

She smirked back. “I certainly am. I don’t particularly want to spend all of time thinking about him. Not when there are much more important things at hand.”

 

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Like what, exactly? What is more important than insulting the man who has decided to ruin both of our lives?”

 

She took a deep breath as the worries came rushing through. “Like reading through this book quickly to find anything of interest. Finding a solution to the horcrux problem. Finding a way to make Harry into an actual human again, finding a way to kill Voldemort, finding a way to protect Hogwarts, and to protect Muggle rights. AND I have to do my holiday homework still, plus soon we’re going to have to start working on a research project, and we need to find a reason for you to use when talking to the Dark Lord, because he certainly isn’t going to take kindly to you taking on a Muggleborn witch as your research partner. Plus I need to make sure I can keep to a schedule when school resumes that lets other students see me around enough that they don’t suspect anything, and don’t forget about the Weasleys - they had no notice before I left, and I haven’t heard from them yet. Who knows what Ron thinks? And what Harry will have told him…”

 

At this point she broke off with a sob. “And-”

 

He lifted a finger to her mouth to silence her. “Hush. You’re emotional, you’re not thinking through this rationally.”

 

“Not rational?!” she snapped. “I’ll show you  _ rational _ , you absolute philistine! Rational is accepting that things have truly gone to shit, and there are things we need to do about it? How on Earth can you just carry on moaning as if nothing truly awful is going on? It’s like you’re complaining about someone who’s pissed you off with an irritating cough, or sneezed in your cauldron!”

 

She huffed, calming slightly as the words left her. Her frustrations let out, she blushed.

 

“Feeling better?” he asked.

 

She glared again, but it seemed weak this time. She deflated, and sat back into the sofa comfortably. “I just don’t understand why you aren’t as stressed as I am.”

 

“Hermione,” he said gently. “I am stressed, just not in the same way that you are.”

 

“You are?”

 

“Yes. But for me, this isn’t new. This has been a consistent state since Voldemort returned. All that has changed for me now, is that you have been dragged into a role that puts you in even more danger, and for that I am incredibly angry with Albus Dumbledore. I focus on him, because he has done something that I find to be utterly unjustifiable.”

 

“Oh,” she whispered, and the truth of his words dawned on her. He had been fighting this a lot longer, and a lot more dangerously than she ever had. Even now, with all her worries about the coming months, he had his neck in the noose for her. If she couldn’t perform up to scratch, he would pay the consequences. Everything that he had worked so hard for would be ruined.

 

“I am sorry,” she offered. “I know this is awful for you, too. I am going to try my best not to make things worse.”

 

He lay an arm over the back of the sofa and smiled at her. “Do try not to die then.”

 

She grinned back at him. “I’ll try, but I make no promises.”

 

She wanted to ask him the same, but something inside of her shied away.

 

***

 

She was alone that evening, working quietly through the book with music on in the background. It was strange - she’d always been happy to work in silence before, but now she had become accustomed to someone being with her. Even with the common room full while she did her homework, she’d tuned out the noises that assailed her. Now, she was adjusting to the loss of a companion that she could tolerate in her focused studies. Severus didn’t distract with his noise, only lifted her mood and provided valuable insights.

 

To be entirely honest, the Weird Sisters weren’t doing much to fill that void at all.

 

It was enough to make her rush over to the fireplace when she heard the floo. She hadn’t been aware of her fireplace being connected to the network, but that didn’t bother her. She quickly fell to her knees and answered, smiling at the sight of Ron’s head grinning at her, hair wild and small smudges of floo powder on his face.

 

“You’ve got something on your nose, by the way,” she said by way of greeting, and he laughed.

 

“I’m glad you seem okay, ‘Mione! Jeez, wanted to check on you, and you’re fussed about the state of my nose… blimey, woman!”

 

“Sorry, I’m sorry Ron, I’m just so happy to see you. We didn’t get to talk before, and I know you must have been quite worried when you brought me back here - thank you for that, by the way, did Harry speak to you?”

 

He sighed and shook his head. “Harry hasn’t spoken to me, but I did try to confront him. He basically ran off spouting crap about my being ‘on your side’ and not trusting him. Not exactly unexpected, is it? When he made you all scary upset. Seriously, I’ve never seen you like it, it was really awful…”

 

Hermione curled her arms around her legs, feeling small. “I’m so sorry, Ron. I wish I could just give you a hug - you don’t know how much you helped me that night…”

 

“I wish I could hug you,” Ron said quietly. “What-what happened that night. It wasn’t the first time, was it?”

 

She shook her head. “No.”

 

“And that’s why you left us and returned to Hogwarts?”

 

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry I left, I just couldn’t stay. I felt sickened, and scared. I didn’t want it to happen again, so I hid away here. I am helping the Order though - I’m doing everything I can. I don’t want you to feel like I’ve got it easy, and I’m just back at school worrying over books, I-”

 

“Hermione. I know you’re helping. You’ve helped us all the way through, me and Harry would have died without you. I guess this time, everyone can help you be safe. And you’re safer at Hogwarts.”

 

“Thank you, Ron. It means a lot. Are you okay with Harry?”

 

Ron sighed. “I don’t know, ‘Mione. He’s acting even stranger since you left again. I guess he’s worried about you talking about what happened. He won’t speak to me more than a sentence at a time, and stares at me as if plotting my murder. I mean-” Hermione could even see his bashful look through the flames. “I’m not saying that he’s going to kill me; he’s actually hurt you, and I just mean that his face is…”

 

“Frightening,” Hermione finished. “Like he’s completely cold inside. Like he’s no longer human.”

 

Ron nodded emphatically. “Exactly. Hermione, did he, well, y’know, did he…?”

 

“Rape me?” Hermione asked flatly. The second time in only a few days, and she was going to admit to it again… after so many months of keeping it hidden, of pretending to be so strong and capable…

 

“Did he?” Ron asked unsurely.

 

“Yes. But not this time. This time he just, well, my mouth…”

 

Her friend gaped at her, his sobs echoing through and providing an odd sort of comfort. Ron was hurting for her, he understood her pain. 

 

“I am so, so sorry, Hermione. I should’ve looked for you, or contacted you. I should have known you didn’t just have an argument. I’ll fucking kill him!” Anger built rapidly, and Ron’s jaw clenched. “He fucking  _ rapes _ you, and then acts like you’ve thrown a tantrum about a creased book spine! And now he’s here, oiling up mum and dad, getting all lovey dovey with Ginny, when he’s actually such a fucking prick! He might be the ‘chosen one’ but he can’t get away with this shit! Did you tell anyone?”

 

“I don’t Dumbledore,” she murmured. “He encouraged me to stay silent, we need everyone on Harry’s side.”

 

“Fuck Harry’s side! We’re on the Order’s side! Who made Harry leader of this fuckjob anyway?!”

 

“Voldemort,” Hermione reminded him. “Voldemort chose him, and now we all have to rally around him like good little dogs.”

 

A clatter in the background made Ron glance to the side. “I’m sorry, ‘Mione, I need to go. Can you arrange for McGonagall to let me in to the castle? Tell her that I need to return some of the things you left at the Burrow. Would she let me come, d’you think?”

 

Hermione thought of her fierce head of house, brimming with fury at Dumbledore and a need to help her favourite pupil, and smiled. “Yeah. I think she would. I’ll write you?”

 

“Any time you can arrange, I’ll be there. Stay strong, ‘Mione. I’ll see you soon.”

 

“Thank you, Ron.”

 

He was gone in a flash, but Hermione stayed put, staring into the flames and marvelling at how her once naive and blindsighted friend had become almost an adult.

  
  



	20. Things we lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit from Ron does wonders to improve Hermione's mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knowwww, this chapter is super short! I am sorry. I've been rather busy lately with work, so I've been updating a little less frequently. I figured I'd offer this chapter up now, and then keep your eyes peeled! I should have another chapter up in a couple of days. x

Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, if not always in the way we expect - Luna Lovegood

It was three days later that Hermione was stood by the gates, with Professor McGonagall at her side. The pair had arrived ten minutes ahead of the scheduled meeting time, to ‘enjoy the fresh air’ as the Gryffindor head had put it. Enjoying the fresh air had consisted of numerous questions checking that Hermione was okay, and thankfully many more questions that focused on her upcoming projects. Minerva may have been a more tactical member of the Order, but no one could deny that she knew a thing or two. She had suggested that Hermione and Severus work on Hermione’s subterfuge in the Muggle world first, before the magical one. It was an idea that the pair had agreed held merit, and so they were planning an excursion into London after Ron’s morning visit. Having the two events of the same day was Snape’s idea; he held the belief that Hermione may find it difficult to ask Ron to leave, and may also find it difficult to have him there for an extended length of time.

 

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

 

“So where are you going with Severus, dear?”

 

Hermione picked up a twig and snapped it between her fingers. “I don’t know. I think Professor Snape means for me to be unprepared, so he can judge how I react.”

 

Minerva frowned. “I’m not sure that would be my first attempt at teaching you.”

 

“Well, we don’t have much time. Since the Headmaster wants this to happen rather quickly, it’s going to be a bit of a rush job.”

 

“He is teaching you occlumency, isn’t he, Miss Granger?” Professor McGonagall looked concerned. “Although I don’t know how you could possibly learn in such a short amount of time…”

 

Hermione sighed. “I’ve got some groundwork laid down, and we’re planning to start properly tomorrow. We’re trying to use the last few days of the holidays as well as we can, really.”

 

Her head of house shook her head. “I’m sorry, my dear. If there is anyway of changing your mind about this, please, speak up.”

 

The young brunette frowned, and shook her head. “Thank you, Professor, but no. I am going to be doing this, and there is no point in dithering about it now. It will only take time away from preparing.”

 

Minerva opened her mouth to reply, but a loud crack announced the arrival of their guest. 

 

“Alright, Professor?” Ron called cheerfully, lugging several bags and cases. “Alright ‘Mione? Couldn’t unlock the gates, could you?”

 

His former head of house ran forward and requested he cast his patronus before she unlocked the large gates. With a large huff, Ronald hauled the numerous pieces of baggage forwards, Hermione rushing to grab some off of him. 

 

“Ron! I didn’t realise that I had so much stuff at the Burrow!”

 

“Yeah, well, I never really got the hang of that shrinking thing you do. Couldn’t make it weigh any less either.”

 

McGonagall clucked loudly and pulled out her wand. She was just about to cast when Ron interrupted. “Wait a moment!”

 

He put down most of the remaining bags, and handed Hermione a carrier that she knew only too well.

 

“Crooks!” she gasped, taking the container hurriedly from her friend. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Crooks… Where have you been?” She released the cat, who appeared to have immediately forgiven his mistress for her oversight. He curled around her legs, purring loudly.

 

“He kept running off to hunt down gnomes, you see,” Ron explained. “You probably didn’t see him at all while you were at the Burrow - he’s been hanging around down the hill quite a lot. They have a definite gnome problem, as well as a cat of their own. A female cat,” he finished with a grin.

 

“Oh, Crooks!” Hermione gushed. “Did you get yourself a girlfriend?”

 

Minerva coughed, and lifted her wand once more. She shrunk the baggage down into one suitcase which Ron was able to lift as easily as a paperback book, while Hermione cuddled her furry companion tightly in her arms. The walk up to the castle was full of thanks and apologies from Hermione, while Ron Weasley and Minerva McGonagall listened to her happy explosion of words. She hadn’t been anywhere near as vocal as of late, and this was a relief to those two who knew her well.

 

They went to Hermione’s chambers to have tea - a safe place for her, as Severus pointed out, and one where she would feel confident to kick out guests when she needed some rest. Minerva had unpacked and enlarged the luggage, which sat by the door as the three took a seat, Crookshanks waddling around to rub up against all furniture and books that came into sight.

 

“How are you, Ron?” Hermione asked. “Are you okay? I hope I didn’t cause too much trouble between you and the others. You know I wouldn’t want that, don’t you?”

 

Ron sighed. “Hermione, you know I love you, right?”

 

Hermione frowned, and nodded. 

 

“Stop giving a shit about the others.”

 

“Ron!”

 

“Mister Weasley!”

 

The two women gasped in unison, but Ron shrugged. “What Harry did to you is fucking awful ‘Mione - sorry Professor - and if the others don’t see that, then I’m not going to waste a knut trying to play nice with them.”

 

“But they’re your family…” Hermione said tentatively. “I can’t expect you to choose me over them.”

 

“You’re my family, too,” Ron smiled. “And you’re a much better family than they are - since when did Ginny do my homework?”

 

Hermione shot a look to her Head of House, who did not look at all surprised by this revelation.

 

“Well done, Mister Weasley,” she said, brimming with pride. “A true Gryffindor, through and through!”

 

“You raised me well, Professor!” 

 

Minerva laughed, and ruffled his hair. “And here I thought you were all a lost cause after Charles.”

 

“Professor!” Hermione and Ron shrieked in unison.

 

“Did you- did you just make a joke?” Ron asked.

 

“Believe it or not, Mister Weasley,” a silky voice intercepted. “Professors are very capable of making jokes.”

 

The terrified look that the redhead shot towards the Potions Master spoke volumes on his opinion of the matter, but Ron wisely kept his mouth shut.

 

“As I was coming to say,” Severus continued. “I would like to thank you for bringing Hermione back to Hogwarts. You did very well, and I apologise for not saying so earlier.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Ron stammered. “It was nothing, Professor. You were distracted, anyway, I mean- not that you’d need to thank me, but-”

 

Snape held up a hand to stop him. “Your actions were excellent for the situation you were faced with.”

 

Ron’s jaw dropped. 

 

“Although if you ever mention this to  _ anyone,  _ you can be certain that you. Will not… live… to tell the tale.”

 

Ronald turned pale, but Hermione snickered. 

 

“He’s joking, Ronald!”

 

Her friend did not look convinced. 

 

Severus took a seat perched on the arm of Hermione’s sofa, while Ron began to look very uneasy.

 

“So,” Hermione continued. “What is happening at the Burrow? Is Ginny alright?”

 

“Hermione, I’m not sure that-”

 

“That I’ll want to hear it?” Hermione finished. “I might not like it, but I do need to hear it. Please, Ron.”

 

He took a deep breath. “Well, Harry told Ginny that you’d made a pass at him while camping, and that he couldn’t resist you. He then made a big show of begging her, and our parents, for forgiveness, which they readily gave.”

 

Hermione stared dumbly at the floor. How could it be that easy? Was it really that easy for him to lie, and so easy for the Weasleys to dismiss her? They were her family - the only family she had. And yet, they’d shun her at a word from Harry. They hadn’t even spoken to her to ask her side of the tale. 

 

“Dad’s staying out of it,” Ron added. “If that helps. I don’t think he completely believes it, but you know how mum can be.”

 

“Yes, I do know.” She remembered vividly the articles that Rita Skeeter had published in her fourth year, and the resulting cold shoulder. 

 

“And Ginny… Ginny thinks she’s in love with Harry. I think she’d rather believe that you are in the wrong, than believe that her Prince Charming is a toad.”

 

Ron appeared very apologetic, and Severus had placed a hand of comfort on Hermione’s shoulder.

 

Hermione, however, laughed. 

 

“Ron! Is that a muggle reference?”

 

He flushed, and shrugged. “Well, yeah. When you left, you didn’t take anything with you. I got bored on watch some nights, and would grab one of your books.”

 

Hermione looked delighted. 

 

“Not one of the clever ones, mind! Just, y’know, the stories.”

 

She could have hugged him, and as it was, she beamed at him like a shower of christmas lights. 

 

“Which ones did you read? Which was your favourite?”

 

***

  
  



	21. A crash course in subterfuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An odd experience takes place, leaving Hermione feeling a little like Alice in Wonderland

The entire visit had remained pleasant, but Hermione was still a little relieved when Ron excused himself to speak to Professor Dumbledore. He was uncomfortable working with Harry, and wanted to request a change of roles for the Order. Everyone agreed that this would be the best course of action, and could only hope that Albus would come to the same conclusion.

 

Hermione now found herself looking around the grounds once more, trying to ground herself and enter her calm mind before leaving for a trip into London, and the unknown. She hadn’t spent much time in public places since the initial attack, and now after a second one her nerves were more than a little frayed. The bumble of people, seeing any PDA, hearing any catcalls… even being in a confined space or being too close to a man that she wasn’t familiar with, any of those things could be either perfectly fine or push her into a state of extreme anxiety. Hermione wasn’t afraid of being attacked - she had Professor Snape with her - but she was afraid of the uncertainty of it all.

 

She’d have to get over it. She couldn’t spy only in large spaces with small numbers of people, after all.

 

“Are you alright, Hermione?” Professor Snape asked, and she nodded. 

 

“Yes, I’m perfectly alright,” she lied.

 

He snorted. “If you want to mislead someone, you need to try a heck of a lot harder than that.”

 

She simply scowled, and turned away from him. “I take it we are apparating?”

 

He nodded. “Yes. We will be going by sidealong, to the outside of a building. You will have a moment or two to adjust to the surroundings, and then I expect you to blend in as if you’ve been there a thousand times before. Understand?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Good.”

 

He grasped her by the shoulder, and a sickening tightness enveloped the pair for only a second, and then Hermione was released to stand on the pavement. Severus held a hand out, anticipating her falling over or becoming nauseous. She simply smiled at him, and shook her head.

 

“I spent time on the run, Professor. I am well acquainted with apparition.”

 

“Of course.”

 

She looked around the bustling street, feeling incredibly out of place. She had known to dress as a Muggle, however she appeared rather underdressed. The street was busy, as only London can be, with women in smart dresses and high heels, and men in business suits. A few pedestrians seemed to be dressed ‘casually’, however it was the definition of casual that might belong to a pureblood witch. Casual, but costing more than a month’s salary. Not a hair was out of place, everyone had perfect posture, and the only people that Hermione could identify with were the taxi drivers. They stood in front of a very large, grandiose building with a red brick exterior and large wooden doors. An elegant yet large sign read ‘ _ The Landmark Hotel’ _ , and Hermione frowned as she tried to place it in her mind.

 

“Where are we?” she asked.

 

“The Landmark Hotel,” her Professor responded. “In Marylebone. I shall put a notice-me-not on us around the corner in order for us to change our appearances. Then, I expect you to follow my lead without giving us away.”

 

“Alright,” Hermione said, trying to appear more confident than she truly felt. She had experienced a good upbringing from her parents, but she could no longer hide behind her mother and father in awkward situations. She would need to behave here as a woman, and simple politeness would not be able to replace elegance.  

 

A mere moment later, and she stood beside Severus at the corner of the building. 

 

“30 seconds,” he told her. “That’s all we have. Starting now.”

 

Hermione tried to focus on the appearance of the women that she had just seen outside, hoping that they had the appearance of the Landmark’s clientele. She didn’t know the purpose that Severus would give for their visit, and so she decided quickly to hedge her bets.

 

A simple, knee-length peplum dress in pale blue with a boatneck and slightly puffy sleeves. She added heels of a complementary blue - not a complete match, as she didn’t want the outfit to look too deliberate or gaudy. Her hair was smoothed into a blond shoulder length style that was left down but carefully arranged into impeccably groomed waves. Her eyes were an intriguing grey, and her makeup subtle. A mid-thigh beige trench coat was left unbuttoned and unbuckled, and a black bag and simple gold necklace completed the look. She hoped that it could pass for casual if needed, or business-like if that were the occasion. 

 

She turned to Professor Snape, who looked impressed. In place of his jeans and long black coat, he was now wearing a tailored grey suit with a pink shirt, minus the tie. His hair was short and brown, his nose much smaller but still prominent. His eyes were now a bright blue, and he carried a small wheeled suitcase. He nodded at her, and held out his arm, crooked at the elbow. Hermione smiled, and tucked her hand in, walking in pace as they approached the entrance to the building. She stopped herself from biting her lip, not wanting to ruin the pink lipstick. 

 

They entered a reception area lit with dimmed spotlighting and chandeliers, and approached the long mahogany desk. 

 

“Good afternoon,” Severus said smoothly as he immediately commanded the attention of a receptionist. “Mr and Mrs Reeves.”

 

Hermione schooled her expression into one of calm. 

 

Mr and Mrs.

 

Seriously?

 

She made sure her left hand was hidden by her bag, and concentrated on making a simple gold band appear on her ring finger, along with a another gold band holding a diamond of good size and clarity. Snape’s lips twitched up, and Hermione took that as a sign of approval.

 

They were shown to their room by the impeccably professional man, who explained the facilities as he walked them. Hermione nodded in the right moments, and laughed delicately at the couple of rather not-funny jokes that were expressed. When Severus held the door for her to enter first, she put on a dazzling smile and kissed him on the cheek.

 

Had that been too much? She blushed pink, and turned to look at her surroundings. 

 

“Thank you, darling.”

 

The bed was large, decorated with throw pillows and flanked with ornate lamps on bedside tables. She nodded her approval.

 

“Excellent,” she proclaimed, keeping her expression schooled in a restrained delight. 

 

“It meets your approval then, dear?” Severus asked her warmly, and Hermione found herself very much intrigued by the lopsided smile he passed her way as he lifted her hand to his lips.

 

“Sir, Madam. The winter garden area is on the ground floor, and I am also able to direct you to other dining areas if you so wish. Would you like any assistance at this moment?”

 

“No, thank you.” Hermione replied. “Thank you, Evan.”

 

He blushed, and quietly excused himself. 

 

“So,” Severus said as he plonked himself onto the bed. “How do you think you are doing so far?”

 

Hermione frowned. “I think I’m doing reasonably well, am I not? I don’t think I’ve made a faux pas at least…”

 

“You are indeed, doing well,” he assured her. “We will be dining here, of course, and then apparating to a different establishment. I shall perform a confundus charm on the way out, and the staff will have no idea that we were here at all.”

 

Hermione nodded. “Then why book the room?”

 

“To see your response.”

 

“Alright.” She took a calming breath. “I shall use the restroom. Then shall we emerge for dinner?”

 

“What do you think is best?” he asked. 

 

What would be best? She tried to puzzle out the scenario, and the roles that they were playing. “Should we wait?” she asked. “If we are unpacking and making ourselves comfortable, we may wish to wait a little longer.”

 

He nodded. “I’ll get comfortable, then.”

 

He turned on the television, and Hermione went into the lavish bathroom. It smelled wonderful, and Hermione couldn’t help but wish they were indeed staying there longer. The marble decor and large bathtub looked rather appealing, after all. She washed her hands, and returned to the bedroom. Severus had removed his shoes, and her coat and the suitcase had been banished. While the majority of her outfit had been transfigured, her coat and accessories had instead been conjured. 

 

She tied her hair back into a ponytail and seated herself into one of the armchairs. Severus was rolling his eyes at bargain hunt, and something about the situation was very domestic and soothing. She wasn’t sure why - they spent time alone in her chambers all the time.

 

Severus suddenly snorted. “Can’t they recognise a cheap knock-off when they see one?”

 

***

 

Roughly 2 hours later they had eaten a lavish meal, taking small bites and sipping at wine as they observed the other diners. Severus had asked her questions to test her observational skills, of which Hermione did not possess as much as she would have expected of herself. Her companion noticed even the smallest details without appearing to take his eyes off of her at all. 

 

The next place he transported her to was very, very different indeed. A street full of graffiti, a dozen drunks either standing outside the run-down pub or otherwise seated on the pavement itself and more than one teenager yelling expletives as some form of friendly name for each other. She felt even more out of place here than she had at the Hotel in Marylebone, and that was certainly saying something. The people around her were all male, poorly dressed and clearly sloshed. Smoke surrounded her, and Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste.

 

Severus quickly pulled her into a dark alley.

 

“30 seconds,” he reminded her. “Really consider the kind of people that would be in this place.”

 

She frowned. Drunks? Chavs? What exactly did he mean?

 

She didn’t have time to dwell on it, however. She simply decided to remove all traces of her previous persona and dress as trashy as possible. Her hair was long now, a definitely box-dyed black, and pulled up into the rather messy hairspray laden bouffant of a wanna-be pinup. She wore a scarlet mini dress that left little to the imagination, and showed off rather a lot of cleavage. She had made her breasts quite a lot larger, and her shoes black and sparkly. She held no bag, but just a jewelled clutch. No wedding ring was on her finger, and her necklace was now a cheap layered design with turquoise beads. Black eyeliner laid on thick, and bright red lipstick. Her face was contoured in a way that would make Lavender Brown happy, and she bore false eyelashes. Perfect.

 

Severus had long hair once again, pulled into a ponytail, and wore a brown leather jacket over a black band t-shirt that looked a little worse for wear. He had baggy jeans on, and comfortable trainers. A motorcycle helmet was held under one arm, and he held a packet of tobacco and a lighter in the other. 

 

“Are you going to smoke?” she asked him in disapproval.

 

“Yes. And so are you.”

 

Hermione snorted. “You cannot be serious. I’ve never smoked in my life.”

 

“You’re gonna have to learn quick, then,” he announced. “Come on.”

 

He led a rather shell-shocked Hermione back towards the frankly seedy looking pub and gave a nod to the men outside. They nodded back, and Hermione felt incredibly uncomfortable with their stares. They openly appraised her appearance, a couple of them even smirking behind pint glasses and fags.

 

Severus leant against the wall and and bent one leg up to rest his foot against the brick. He pulled papers from the bag of baccy and rolled a cigarette expertly, drawing Hermione’s eyes to his lips as he licked it sealed. 

 

Why would she need to smoke? Surely his smoking was enough?

 

“You want one, Mel?” he asked, holding one out to her. She shot him a rather intense glare as she took it, imitating the way that he held it between his lips. 

 

“Thanks, sugar.” She replied sweetly. 

 

And then he flicked his zippo, and she groaned internally.

 

_ Shit shit shit. _

 

_ Shit. _

 

She’d never smoked before, and yet he expected her to fit in here? Seriously? He leaned in close and whispered into her ear.

 

“You’ll need to inhale in order for it to light.”

 

She did… and it tasted fucking awful. It tasted  _ exactly _ as it smelled, and Hermione had never found the smell intriguing in the slightest. Humour reigned in Snape’s eyes as he lit his own and took a long drag. For him, it seemed natural. He inhaled exhaled as if he’d been doing it his whole life, reaching out to play with her hair as she attempted to do the same.

 

_ Don’t choke, don’t choke, don’t choke. _

 

Around halfway through, the coughs began to explode and she struggled to contain them, holding a hand to her mouth. A man off to the side started laughing, and Hermione shot him a rather irritated look.

 

“First time, love?”

 

Before she could respond, Severus pushed himself off the wall and pulled her in close. “First of many tonight, I’d wager.” He shot the man a wink, and the others around him jeered and cheered in response. 

 

Before she could say anything, he pulled into the dark pub.

 

The inside met expectations.

 

Mostly full of men, with women scattered around on the arm of some asshole. One couple was making out on a long, worn cushioned bench, clearly in view, while another man had his hand on his partner’s breast as he spoke to a friend. 

 

Classy. Very classy.

 

Hermione found herself wishing very much that she were playing Mrs Reeves instead of ‘Mel’, the woman that would enjoy entering an establishment such as this. Severus led her over to the bar and ordered for her, making not-so-subtle misogynistic comments to the guy behind the bar, and eyeing up the barmaid clearing up glasses further down. 

 

He was certainly a far cry from the gentleman in the Marylebone hotel.

 

Hermione forced her expression into one of happiness and giddy excitement, taking a cue from the other ladies (if they could be called ladies) and pressing a hand onto Snape’s chest as she leaned into him. 

 

Wondering how best to challenge his decision of bringing her here. She wasn’t strongly acquainted with many purebloods, but the ones she had met did NOT look like they’d spend any time in this shithole.

 

They went leisurely into an even darker corner of the grubby place and seated themselves down at a sticky table for two. Hermione regretted her clothing choice immediately.

 

“I swear my thighs are now glued to this chair,” she hissed. “How this place passed inspection is beyond me.”

 

Severus snorted. “What makes you think they’ve been inspected?”

 

“Well it could fucking do with one,” she mumbled.

 

“I don’t disagree with you there.”

 

Hermione sighed and took a large gulp of Guinness.  “So how long are we going to be here?”

 

Severus shrugged. “A couple more hours at least. We are going to have a couple of drinks, rent a room and then return to Hogwarts.”

 

A couple of hours. Hermione could manage a couple of hours. Nethertheless, she crinkled her nose.

 

“This place rents rooms?”

 

“Yes. By the hour if needed.”

 

By the hour. How very distasteful.

 

“Come on, Mel. Where is my fun-loving friend?” Snape teased.

 

“Dead. Along with many of this pub’s patrons, I’d assume. Honestly, it’s a health hazard.”

 

“Get in character.”

 

Hermione tried to do it, pushing aside the obvious death traps in the place and sitting up more to push her ample chest forward. She pulled her elbows in close to further emphasize her cleavage, and tossed her hair and she looked around from time to time, pretending to be flattered by the leery stares.  

 

After three drinks, Severus reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet. She was rather tipsy, and glad for his hand as she balanced herself on her rather ridiculous shoes. It didn’t take any acting whatsoever to hang onto him as they wandered back over the bar, taking a key from the barmaid who gave Hermione a saucy wink and told her to ‘have a good time’. 

 

Excellent.

 

Hermione sighed in relief as the door shut behind them. “Excellent-” she began, but Severus held a finger up to his lips.

 

“Not now,” he whispered. “I would bet my bookshelf that someone is listening to the goings on in here.”

 

“So what?” she whispered back.

 

Severus replied in the form of thudding his body against the closed door and running his fingernails over the damaged wood. “Ughhhhh,” he groaned throatily, pushing himself hard against the door again. Then, he whirled and made his way over to the bed, lifting an eyebrow at his companion.

 

Did he honestly expect her to join in this charade? She had no idea how she even would behave… she didn’t exactly have a great deal of experience in the matter. 

 

The beer guided her. She jumped loudly onto the bed and let out a squeak of surprise at the flat mattress and noisy bed springs. Snape gave her a thumbs up and tossed himself onto the bed as well, bouncing up and down a few times for good measure. 

 

“Ah!” Hermione yelped, feeling the bed rock beneath her in response. Honestly, it was amazing that the bed still stood at all. She certainly didn’t want to look under the sheets. 

 

“Good,” he whispered. “Keep making that noise.”

 

A couple of minutes later, Hermione was trying to hold back giggles as they competitively out-moaned each other, eventually feeling their throats go horse and their eyes tear up with amusement. After a particularly loud moan and grunt, Severus put a hand onto her knee to stop her movements, and they panted as they caught their breath.

 

Severus then ran a hand through his hair, pulling several strands loose from the ponytail. He undid the button on his jeans, and motioned for Hermione to muss herself up, too.

 

Hermione shook a hand through her hair, bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, lifted her breasts higher in the dress (as if they’d been hurriedly put back in place) and licked a finger to smudge her eyeliner. 

 

Snape nodded and pointed his wand at the bed, messing up the sheets and leaving a wet patch in the centre. 

 

Hermione’s embarrassment was second only to the thought that this might be the only clean the bed had in awhile. Nice.

 

She would definitely need a shower back at Hogwarts.

  
  



	22. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus and Hermione draw a little closer, and D Day draws closer.

Snape thankfully released her upon their return, offering to discuss the events of the evening the next afternoon instead, to give her time to digest what had happened. What had happened, as it turned out, was that Hermione found her scalding shower to turn from a need for cleanliness to a replaying of the sounds her teacher/friend made sexually. Were those the sounds that he genuinely made during sex? Or simply sounds manufactured to sell the story to others?

 

Needless to say, she did not sleep well. Instead of being plagued by nightmares or restlessness, Hermione found herself struggling to fall into slumber at all. Something was niggling at her about it. She felt confused and uncomfortable, but in a new and thrilling way. Every time she thought that she might have the man figured out, she was thrown for a loop again.  And this was a particularly delicious loop.

 

At three o’clock the next afternoon, Hermione found herself crossed legged and quieter than usual as she sipped her tea alongside Severus. They would be working on her occlumency after the briefing, as if things couldn’t get any worse. 

 

“So,” he began. “How do you feel about yesterday?”

 

The young brunette swallowed her mouthful and spoke carefully. “It was… interesting.”

 

One eyebrow rose in a signature mocking. “Interesting? Nice descriptive emotion you’ve got there.”

 

“It was very interesting,” she snapped. “If you wanted emotions, you should have asked with more clarity.”

 

“Well then, Hermione, what emotions did you feel before, during and after our exercise?”

 

She scowled at his smirking face. Smug git. If he only knew how frazzled she was by their antics. 

 

“I felt very uncomfortable, thanks. Confused at times. Intrigued at others. It was a useful learning experience, and I’m sure the lessons will come in handy.”

 

“Very diplomatic,” he commented. “Which lessons do you think will be of use to you?” 

 

_ Shit.  _ “Adapting to rapidly changing situations,” she improvised. “Acting a part well enough to fit in, even if it does not come naturally. Interacting with strangers.”

 

“And?” he pressed. 

 

“Sir?”

 

He took a long sip of his tea and eyed her thoughtfully. “Engaging in behaviours and entering establishments that you may find unsavoury or even triggering in some way?”

 

Hermione flushed. “I was surprised by the tavern, it’s true, but I think I adapted fairly well.”

 

“And to the activities in the room upstairs?”

 

She shrugged. “I don’t understand why that was particularly necessary, but I don’t think I screwed that up.”

 

“You didn’t.”

 

Hermione sighed and placed her teacup onto the table. “Then why are you mentioning it, Sir?”

 

“Because you have experienced trauma, sexually. And I required you to act in a sexual manner.”

 

The girl laughed. “It was just mucking around, making noises. Not too much trouble.”

 

“And what if we needed to appear closer with an audience? What if I needed to kiss you? Or if you needed to behave as if you were in love with me?”

 

“Why would that be necessary?”

 

“If I’m to bring you to the Dark Lord, we will need to convince him that you’re truly interested in joining his forces, or at the very least can be exploited. I’m unsure if he will believe that you came on your own, just happening to trust that I am on his side and not Dumbledore’s. It seems rash and careless, nothing like your persona.”

 

“So what are you suggesting?”

 

“I am suggesting that we say that you approached me for solace, realising that the people around you could not be trusted.”

 

“Well that’s fairly true,” she conceded, and he nodded his head.

 

“I then used the time with you to seduce you into the dark arts, and we formed a relationship of a tentative flirtatious nature.”

 

“So, we want them to think you shagged me into joining?”

 

He snorted. “That’s fairly crass. And unnecessary.”

 

“Really?” she asked. “They won’t expect more?”

 

Severus sighed and sat up straighter, turning to face her fully. “The Death Eaters are people, Hermione. People with horrible ideals, and horrific ways of executing them, but they are people. If I’m to be interested in you, and you interested in the cause, why would our being intimate validate that? Just knowing that we are connected will be enough, and will also be enough for the others to avoid hitting on you.”

 

Her eyes widened in surprise. 

 

“The bro code is universal,” he winked, and Hermione’s jaw fell open in shock before she recovered and hit him with a steely look.

 

“Sexist. Calling it the ‘bro code’ is entirely inappropriate, Professor.”

 

“Okay. What would you rather call it?”

 

“How about ‘being a decent human being’?”

 

“That works I guess. Less fun to say.”

 

Hermione snorted and chucked a cushion at his head as she stood to grab a box of cookies from her desk. “Like you give a single fuck about ‘fun to say’. Your students would have a heart attack.”

 

She was his student too, but he saw no need to correct her. It was very difficult to be authoritative with someone after bouncing up and down on a gross mattress and making sex noises.

 

He growled quietly. “Shall we begin with today’s lesson?”

 

***

 

Their training became more difficult once term commenced. Severus found himself swamped with homework to mark while Hermione spent a lot of time dodging her classmates. All of the Order professors had given her a reprieve from homework, requiring her to simply hand in a parchment of magically copied text to keep up appearances. This lowered her workload, but not enough to make up for Occlumency lessons, studying of the dark arts texts, practicing subterfuge and learning as much as she could about spying in general. Plus, she was working on her potions project. Draco would be brought in as a secondary research partner – Severus would recommend this to the Dark Lord, and she needed to show enough progress to convince them that her time spent with Severus had advanced her research. They needed their timeline to make sense, and the timeline indicated that she had begun an apprenticeship upon the recommencement of school. In a month’s time, when she was introduced to the Dark Lord, they would need to have something to show for a month of work. 

 

Often, their lessons would be conducted in her private chambers in the late hours, Hermione going for an ‘early night’ before sneaking out of the dormitory, and then returning to Gryffindor tower in the morning before the others arose, opening the curtains around her bed and moving items around to give the impression that she was still living there. She had asked Dumbledore if he would come up with an excuse for her to stay in the guest wing, but he had steadfast refused. So sneaking around it was. 

 

Regardless, her dorm mates assumed that she was seeing someone, they just couldn’t bring themselves to care. Lavender had always been self-absorbed at best, and Hermione had always been an outsider among her female peers. Too bookish, not concerned about her appearance, not interested in gossip… Hermione had always been ‘one of the boys’, and she hadn’t seen it as a bad thing. Being able to break from the mold was empowering. It was somewhat a shame that now she would still have occasional flashbacks and struggle with being around men in general, other than Severus for some reason that she couldn’t quite place. As she had told him so long ago, he made her feel safe. And more than that, he provided her with companionship that felt like a true comfort. She didn’t need to pretend to be anything she wasn’t, and he didn’t either. 

 

They kept up their paper plane method of communication, but the boundaries began to blur. Hermione had worked out how to allow Severus access to her chambers, and if Dumbledore was aware, he didn’t mention it. Rather disturbingly quickly, Severus started to come and go with confidence, as if he owned the place. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to waltz in, disturb Hermione’s reading, and steal a snack from whatever food she had at hand. He would call Spiffy, purloin her bookshelves or desk, and generally make himself at home. 

 

Hermione didn’t mind. In fact, it felt nice. 

 

Things didn’t start to get awkward until the weekend before Hermione’s intended introduction to the society of dark wizardry. They had stayed up late, studying hard on her potion as well as pop quizzing on info for her meeting with Voldemort. They had decided on a safe level of information for her to offer freely, and decided on memories that she could focus on were the Dark Lord to enter her mind. Regardless of how prepared they were, they couldn’t help but feel on edge. Failure would see both of them sent to their deaths. 

 

They sat up talking while the embers in the fire burned out, sipping at a few mouthfuls too many of a lovely robust wine that Severus had brought along with him, distracting themselves from what was to come. The hours of preparation were done for the night, and the time for just ‘being’ was much needed. 

 

“How did you get introduced to the Dark Lord?” Hermione asked quietly. “Did a friend draw you in?”

 

Severus frowned. “Yes, and no. My circle of friends from Hogwarts could be described as small at best, and those that were interested in me only became so when I started to show above average capabilities in most fields of magic, and in potions particularly. They started to realise that they could use me for this, and I wanted the power and attention that this afforded me. I needed to feel respectable, having always felt rather lesser throughout my youth. Hogwarts gave me a sense of superiority, but it was Slytherin that gave me a hint of companionship. There’s no use being in any way better than your peers if you are not recognised for it.”

 

Hermione was a little shocked. “Did you consider yourself to be better?”

 

“Yes,” he answered honestly. “I knew more when I arrived at Hogwarts than students years older than me. And that was with a muggle father. For all the pureblood belief that being of proper lineage, I was already better than most of them when I arrived. I could best seventh year students. I grew up poor, in many ways neglected by my parents and abused by my father. Generally, a shit home life can produce less competent wizards, whether by quashing confidence or other means. But I was confident in my powers, because I really was good.”

 

Hermione nodded. “Is that why you wanted to join? You wanted to learn more?”

 

“Partially,” Severus replied. “But honestly, I was seduced more by power and respect. I didn’t feel that much drive for the knowledge, because as a young man I rather felt that I already knew everything worth knowing, and I could teach myself the things that I didn’t.”

 

“Wow,” Hermione gasped, trying to lighten the mood. “Arrogant, much?”

 

Her companion smirked. “Like you can talk, know-it-all.”

 

“Hey! I liked to learn!”

 

“And I liked to know things. Not that different, really.”

 

“Maybe that’s why we get along so well,” Hermione responded without thinking. “In some ways, we are very much the same.”

 

Piercing black eyes stared into her own, and the younger woman began to regret her words. Here she was, twenty years younger and with so much less experience, claiming similarities between herself and this man. To her surprise, the corners of his mouth twitched into a genuine smile, and he nudged her with his shoulder.

 

“Yes. We are.”

 

When the fire was completely out and their glasses empty, the fell asleep leaning against each other, Hermione’s hand falling onto his chest and Severus’ arm curling around her in sleep. Friends. They were friends. 

  
  



	23. Malfoy Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has her first introduction to the world of the Dark Lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know! I'm sorry it's been so long since my last update. Work happened, and left me with a need to play video games rather than write... (Guild Wars 2, in case anyone is interested). Again, I do not edit before posting. Sorry, but that seems too much like work :p I'll be back to posting as often as possible now! Happy reading :)

Hermione tugged nervously at the out of character robes she was wearing, dark green with an intricate design embroidered in gold on the hem and sleeves. Her hair was up, and she wore delicate earrings that dropped like water into tiny pendants. She didn’t look at all like herself - and that was the point. They way Severus had put it was that she needed to look like she wanted to impress, that she was trying to belong there. To that note, her fingernails remained the same as always, bitten down roughly and incredibly short. Her hair was twisted elegantly, but retained some of the frizz. She was dressed as if for a job interview; clearly putting on her best, but the rough parts of her still showing through. 

 

Snape nodded his approval from the door to her bedchamber. 

 

“You look good,” he commented. 

 

Hermione blushed. “Really? You think so?”

 

“Yeah, you look every bit an eager death eater.”

 

The girl scowled. “Thanks, Snape. Really.”

 

He raised his eyebrows, and Hermione gulped as she realised her informality addressing him as such. He looked every bit as cold and fierce as the Professor she’d known for over six years, and at that moment she expected to be given a detention, or worse, to lose house points!

 

“What did you expect?” he hissed. “You don’t want me to say you look every bit a teenage girl about to go to the  _ yule ball _ do you?” He sneered the words, and Hermione’s eyes flamed with irritation.

 

“I’ll have you know I looked great at the yule ball,” she replied tartly. “And at least one of us went with a date.”

 

“I was a chaperone!”

 

“You were a teacher,” Hermione corrected. “And yet I didn’t see you setting a good example by mingling.”

 

He snorted, and his lip curled. “I made a perfectly good example by staying sober and keeping people out of trouble. If I remember correctly, you’re the one that caused a scene.”

 

“That wasn’t my fault!” Hermione snapped. “That was Ron being a bull-headed arsehole! It’s hardly my causing a scene if men are ridiculous at expressing their emotions and prone to jealousy.”

 

“Nice generalisation there, Hermione. Want to take a punt at Hufflepuffs being stupid, or Slytherins being evil?”

 

“Well the second point isn’t exactly being proven wrong, is it?”

 

“You’d rather believe that Slytherins are evil than that Hufflepuffs are less than bright?”   
  


“There’s nothing stating that Hufflepuffs cannot be academically inclined or successful. Their main trait is loyalty, which Does Not equal stupidity, Professor. If you think that low intellect and strong friendship are the same thing, then you’re the one who might want to try testing for their OWLs again.”

 

“I got higher grades than yours,” Severus replied coolly. “And with much less frenzied studying and obvious anxiety, I might add.”

 

“You didn’t take yours while being taught by Dolores Umbridge.”

 

“I didn’t,” her companion conceded.

 

They both calmed their breathing, and an almost visible weight lifted from them as Hermione gave the dark haired professor a small smile. 

 

“Looks like I win,” she pointed out smugly.

 

“You do not.”

 

“And why not?”

 

“Because the original point was that you believe all men to adhere to the same standards, to be put into a nicely labelled box. That would be like claiming all women are like your classmate, Miss Brown.”

 

Hermione shuddered. “Touche.”

 

Severus bowed low with a flourish. 

 

“And that, young Hermione, is how it is done.”

 

“Arse,” Hermione muttered. 

 

Snape was about to reply when a firm knock sounded on Hermione’s door, and Severus threw it open to reveal a rather pale Professor McGonagall.

 

“Severus, may I borrow you for a moment.”

 

“Yes, Minerva,” he replied. “Only a moment mind, you are aware that I have other commitments this evening.”

 

The door closed quietly behind the pair, and Hermione sat down for a moment to draw breath. Their brief debate had distracted her from her nerves, but now that Severus was gone, she felt them returning in full force. Nausea bubbled, and a lightheaded feeling passed over her.

 

_ You can do this. You need to do this. For the war, for the light. For Snape, for Dumbledore, for the Weasleys. For Harry. For yourself.  _

 

_ You need to do this to remove the title of ‘mudblood’. You need to do it for the other muggleborns.  _

 

_ You can do this. Be brave. _

 

Hermione was still seated with a last minute mug of chamomile tea when her mentor returned. He was looking every bit as collected as he had before he left, but Hermione knew he must be as scared as she was. If this went badly, she wouldn’t be the only one to die. Severus would, too.

 

“I-” she began, swallowing thickly. “If this goes badly, I-”

 

“It won’t,” he cut her off. “You’ll do fine, I have faith in you.”

 

“You trust me?” 

 

“With my life,” he said firmly, and although his tone held no humour, he smirked when his small friend gave a slightly hysterical chuckle at the apt phrase.

 

***

 

They were alone when they walked towards the gates. Severus had refused escort from a 

worried Minerva, and Dumbledore had never expected that he would be hand-holding his spies. Hermione was grateful for this; it gave her a little longer to take deep breaths and push herself into character.

 

She gasped when they arrived at the apparition point. Malfoy manor was everything she had expected it to be in size and grandiosity. It was evidently an old estate, and appeared to come right out of a period drama. The gardens were immaculate, and the walls clean, but Hermione was struck by how dark it was. Not a light on to be seen, or person outside. She frowned. 

 

“Isn’t it rather quiet?” she asked softly. 

 

“It’s supposed to be. There isn’t exactly a banner to hang out for “Death Eaters here, please invade”.”

 

Well, it would be a bit circumspect. She couldn’t argue with that.

 

“Are you ready?” he asked her.

 

“Yes!” She threw on a dazzling smile and nodded enthusiastically. “I only hope that they accept me as you have done. Do you think they’ll like me?”

 

He smirked approvingly. “As long as you keep your know-it-all nature to yourself, you won’t embarrass me too thoroughly. Shall we?”

 

He held out an elbow, and she tucked her hand elegantly into the crook, tightening her grip a little too tight to be casual, and nibbling her lip in an affectation of nervous concern. Severus had told them about her already, and she knew that they would expect her to very much match up to the descriptions given, not just by Snape, but also from Draco. 

 

“Will Draco be present?” she asked. 

 

He inclined his head. “Yes. But please keep school chat to the minimum. This is a meeting. You’re not being babysat.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

A house elf greeted them at the door, and Hermione followed Severus’ lead. They each handed over their cloaks without so much as looking at the servant, immediately entering into the house, leaving the door open behind them.

 

_ Sorry, elf. Needs must. _

 

The large dining room was already full, only a couple of seats at the large table remaining. A few robed individuals lingered standing in the shadows of the room, away from the rest of the group. A trio of wizards stood before the fireplace, muttering quietly among themselves. A few curious looks were shot her way as Hermione and Severus sat down, but they held surprisingly little animosity. When they didn’t address her, or throw her out, Hermione began to feel rather awkward, but instead pushed it aside. 

 

Time to play the role. 

 

She chirped across the table at the woman opposite her. “Hello! I’m afraid Professor Snape hasn’t started any introductions…” she held out her hand to shake. “My name is Hermione.”

 

The woman’s eyes were guarded, but she chuckled as she took the offered hand. “Severus can be rather uncouth in his manners, it’s true. Everyone shall be introduced to you shortly. The dinner will be served in a few moments.”

 

The Malfoy’s entered the room together, several of the attendees taking to their feet to greet them formally. Mr and Mrs Malfoy showed no surprise at the young Gryffindor’s attendance, however Draco paled and tensed, ready to bolt at any moment. 

 

“Draco!” Hermione called, standing to offer a small bow. “Thank you for inviting me into your home, Lord and Lady Malfoy.”

 

Lucius looked just as skeptical as his son, but his wife smiled warmly and glided over to kiss the girl on the cheek. “You’re most welcome, my dear. Draco has told us so much about you.”

 

“All of it good I hope?” Hermione murmured and Narcissa gestured for her to return to her seated position. 

 

“I hear you two are working on your research project together with Severus. I would love to hear more about it from all of you, later.”

 

She clapped her hands, and everyone took their seats at the table, seeming to follow an invisible seating chart. One end of the table held an empty seat, presumably for the Dark Lord.

 

She eyed it curiously, and Draco whispered to her; “He doesn’t eat with us. He usually shows up later.”

 

Hermione nodded, and waited for Lucius to begin eating the soup and bread in front of him. She noticed several nods of approval as she took up her spoon after observing his first mouthful. 

 

It felt like a trap. Were they really to be won over by some basic etiquette? 

 

“So, Hermione,” Lucius began quietly. “How are you finding working with our surly friend, here?”

 

“Remarkably pleasant,” she immediately responded. “What he lacks in charm, he makes up for in wit and knowledge. A more than acceptable trade off, I hope you’d agree.”

 

The elder Malfoy smirked. “Indeed.”

 

She glanced almost apologetically at her companion, but thankfully he seemed amused rather than angry.

 

He raised an eyebrow. “Charm and beauty are nothing compared to the mental attributes.”

 

“Easy to see how you’d come to that conclusion,” Lucius shot at him. 

 

“Easy to see how Hermione would, too,” Severus replied, just as quickly. 

 

“Lacking in manners there, Professor,” Hermione scowled. “Lack of charm is not acknowledging a woman’s attributes. Calling her ugly is just rude.”

 

The majority of the table were now staring at them in shock. Why had Severus ribbed her in such a way? And why had Lucius done the same? She’d so easily fallen into the old patterns of bantering with her friend. Maybe that was a good thing; it showed that she was truly at ease around him, rather than simply pretending.

 

By the time that desert was served, most of the table had laughed loudly at the group antics, and the stakes had been upped with each insult from Hermione, Severus and the Malfoys. Draco, to her shock, could take as good as he gave, reserved as he still was. A couple of other, unfamiliar, people joined in against either Lucius or Severus, and the group atmosphere felt… homely, and joyous instead of frightening.

 

_ Is this a dream? _

 

All of that joy and courage vanished, the moment that Voldemort entered the room. He swept in silently through a side door, without any pomp or grand entry. The table, nevertheless, fell silent as he took his seat, everyone lowering their heads in respect, and Hermione mimicking their actions even as the houselves banished the dishes from the table, replacing them with a variety of post-dinner beverages. 

 

Severus prepared tea for Hermione, and then himself, both of them sipping their drinks in unison. While Severus appeared nonchalant, Hermione couldn’t help but shoot glances at the man who had just joined their dinner party. He did not partake of any refreshment, simply running his eyes slowly over the attendees. He met their gazes wherever possible, his Death Eaters seemingly unable to avoid eye contact with him.

 

He engaged in a quiet conversation with those closest to him, leaning close to Bellatrix Lestrange, and sharing words with both her husband and his brother. Neither of the men blinked an eye at the physical closeness of the woman and their Dark Lord, and Hermione cocked her head at that, tearing her gaze away as Severus pulled on her forearm to gain her attention. 

 

“Lucius and I shall retire to the library shortly. Narcissa will be so kind as to escort you to her parlor, where you will be able to meet with several of the other women here.”

 

It seemed archaic, the men and women splitting off after dinner, but Hermione nodded obediently. “Yes, Professor. Thank you, Lady Malfoy.”

 

“You’re welcome, my dear.”

 

***

 

The parlor was somehow both very feminine and still classy. It reminded Hermione of the magazines that her dorm-mates would leave lying around, or even the muggle ‘ideal’ home intended for women who had their husband whipped. It was easy to see that Narcissa’s tastes were girly and refined, and that her husband didn’t tend to set foot in such a room. Quaint ornaments and vases full of flowers dotted around to bring colour to the otherwise pale room, and Hermione smiled at a collection of photos on a side table as she took a seat on one of several brown pouffes. They held a pink tint, but not strong enough to be reminiscent of Umbridge’s office. The room was… comforting. As if it belonged to a relative that you’d only see on rare occasions.

 

The photos held a collection of individuals; showing the Malfoy’s and Lestranges, including several photos of Draco as he grew up. What surprised her, though, was the sight of a teenager with bright pink hair in between a friendly looking man and a woman who looked remarkably similar to Narcissa herself, and even Bellatrix. 

 

“Tonks?” She burst out, before she could help herself. 

 

A gentle voice disrupted her thoughts from beside her. 

 

“My niece,” Narcissa replied quietly. “She is with my sister and her husband.”

 

Hermione felt a lump grow in her throat, her mind full of thoughts and questions that begged to burst free. Andromeda had been exiled from the family… she’d been removed from the family tree. She was the enemy of her siblings; why would Narcissa have a photo in pride of place among the rest of the homely portraits?

 

Narcissa smiled at her wryly. “Not that I’ve seen her often. I haven’t seen her since she was a baby. Andy, my sister, allowed me a photo, at least. I hear she’s an auror now. A member of the Order. She even has a baby.”

 

Numbly, Hermione nodded. “Yes.”

 

She nibbled her lip for a moment before glancing around the room. The other women were all chatting in small groups. “I didn’t realise that you were still in contact.”

 

Narcissa sighed. “We have different political views, of course, but she will always be family, and I will always care about her.”

 

Hermione attempted a small smile, but couldn’t help the tears that sprang to her eyes. She sniffed as quietly as she could, giving a small grateful laugh as the older woman passed her a neatly pressed handkerchief. 

 

“Thank you,” she whispered.

 

“Are you alright, dear?”

 

“Yes. I just miss my family.”

 

_ Tell the truth,  _ Hermione reminded herself.  _ Tell the truth without giving too much away. _

 

“I’m alone now,” she added. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to become so emotional.”

 

Narcissa patted her on the shoulder sympathetically. “It’s alright, Hermione. I am sorry to hear about your family.”

 

“Even though they’re muggles?”

 

The room had quietened slightly as those closest  turned their attention to the conversation taking place. Narcissa flicked a glance at the others and sighed before focusing once more on the vulnerable muggleborn beside her. 

 

“Family is family, and humans are humans, Hermione. Blood status doesn’t stop you grieving.”

 

_ Tread lightly. _

 

“I would have thought that you wouldn’t count muggles as humans?” she edged slowly.

 

A small spatter of chuckles sounded from a trio of women on a coach opposite. A tall, brunette woman with a pointed face leaned forwards.

 

“Of course muggles are humans! What else would they be?”

 

“I… I don’t know,” Hermione replied lamely. How could she keep them talking? How could she find out more about them and their plans if she didn’t know about their ideology? Silently cursing herself for failing to prepare completely, Hermione tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “But, the Muggle-born Registration Commission? If muggle borns are supposedly thieves, how do you determine the supposed thievery?”

 

Narcissa raised a hand before the other woman could reply. “I think you should discuss this with Severus, not with us. If you believe us to be a threat to you, why are you here?”

 

The question was laced with curiosity, but Hermione internally recoiled as she caught the tiniest hint of defensive pain from the blonde. 

 

“I’m here, because the enemy of the enemy is my friend,” Hermione said, smiling wryly. “My… interests are more personal than expansive.”

 

Narcissa’s eyes stared directly into her own, and Hermione gulped as she focused on her shields.

 

_ Does Narcissa know Legilimency? Severus told me to watch out for Bellatrix, but what about the Malfoy matriarch? Fucking buggering hell… I hope Severus is alright. _

 

As it turned out, Severus was fine. She breathed a sigh of relief as her partner in crime hovered in the doorway an hour later, gesturing for her to join him. “Thank you, as always, for your wonderful hospitality, Narcissa.”

 

“Yes,” Hermione agreed. “It’s been lovely to meet you properly.”

 

And when Severus took her arm for them to go back home, Hermione came to a sudden realisation - her night at the Malfoy’s had given her more questions to ask than information to give. Where was the reality between the people she’d met, and the acts that they’d committed?

  
  
  
  
  
  



	24. The fine line between light and dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is introduced to Severus' way of thinking, and finds that his philosophy is not too far from her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, I know that I will probably get some hate for this. Just be aware that the topic matter in this chapter will be discussed further, and I am highly unlikely to delete anything in this chapter simply because it offends you. The opinions of my characters are very much fitting to how I see them, so if you don't like it then you can suck it :) 
> 
> Also, sorry for the delay in updating (again). Chronic illness sucks, basically.

“Let me do the talking,” Severus murmured as they began the walk back towards the castle. “The first thing we do when we return is give Albus an overview of the evening’s events. In future, you’ll be expected to provide your own report, but for now try and answer as succinctly as possible and refer as much of the inquiries to me. There are things that are necessary to tell Albus, and things that are not.”

 

“Which would that be?” Hermione asked. “Are you keeping information from Albus?”

 

“I am only telling him that which is pertinent for the light to be aware of. I give the information required for the Order to step in and save lives. Nothing more.”

 

Hermione nodded. It made sense to her; why should Albus be privy to the inner workings of these people’s lives? If it was not necessary for Albus to take action, do not share it.

 

“Now,” Severus continued softly. “Are you alright?”

 

He placed a comforting arm around her shoulders, pulling his cloak with it to provide her with warmth in the chilly evening air. Hermione flushed a little but moved closer, happily accepting his invitation into proximity. 

 

“I am,” she replied. “I have a lot of questions, of course, but-”

 

Snape chuckled. “A lot of questions? You?”

 

A scowl dominated her features, and he only smirked as she shot him a glare. 

 

“Shut it. Questions are necessary to learn.”

 

“Pertinent questions are,” he shot back. “If it’s obvious, don’t bother asking.”

 

“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask you, Severus Snape,” she hissed. “So you would do well to reserve judgement.”

 

He inclined his head. “Indeed. I was simply commenting on my…  _ experience _ … of your questions in an academic context.”

 

“You haven’t complained about them recently.”

 

“I haven’t complained about them in private,” he corrected. “And I haven’t as much in class, because your questions are finally relevant.”

 

“Oh? And how have my questions not been relevant previously?”

 

“You’ve brought up information that exceeds the knowledge necessary for the potion being made or lecture being given.”

 

“To build upon the topic and further my understanding!”

 

Severus flicked his gaze up to the Headmaster’s tower, where the tall form of Albus Dumbledore was in sight. Hermione followed his gaze and sent another scowl his way.

 

_ We’ll talk about this later,  _ she decided. 

 

“Building on your own understanding isn’t helpful for me as a teacher,” Severus explained. “All you are doing is using class time to distract and confuse children who could, quite frankly, do with a refresher course on the basics.”

 

Hermione shut her mouth, swallowing down her retort. Was he right? Was her goal to excel affecting the progress of others? Was that why he’d been so cruel to her all these years? As if he knew what she was thinking, Snape continued.

 

“Also, I used to find you incredibly annoying.”

 

By now, they were entering the quiet castle, and Severus removed his arm and warmth from his smaller companion, who keenly felt its loss. Their footsteps echoed in the halls as they made their way upwards, and only Snape’s wand lit the way. He shook his head when Hermione reached for her own.

 

Albus’ office was already open when they arrived, the gargoyle waving them forward without a password. The golden light of the room, and the warmth from within made it feel homely, and Hermione was surprised to feel herself relax upon taking a seat in front of the headmaster’s desk.

 

Severus, it seemed, preferred to stand. He hovered next to the window, one arm outstretched to idly stoke the feathers of Fawkes. 

 

“So,” Dumbledore began. “May I offer either of you a cup of tea… or a lemon drop, perhaps?” The twinkle was in his eyes, and Hermione politely shook her head as Severus just rolled his eyes.

 

What was with the lemon drops? Why did he always have them on hand to offer visitors? Hermione filed the thought away for later consideration.

 

“We arrived at Malfoy Manor at the anticipated time. No pertinent details were shared during dinner. The Dark Lord did not converse with us; instead, I gave Hermione a proper introduction to the Malfoys. There was no entertainment provided, simply a gathering of Death Eaters in a casual manner. When the women seperated off, we moved to the library and drank whisky while smoking cigars. No plans or information was uncovered at this time.”

 

Severus withdrew from the window and made to leave, but the Headmaster held up a hand to stop him. Snape’s lip curled, and Hermione almost laughed at the irritation that emanated from his person.

 

“Hermione,” the headmaster smiled. “How was the trip, my dear? I hope it wasn’t too uncomfortable for you?”

 

She felt his sparkling blue eyes make contact with hers, and dropped her gaze to the desk quickly, blinking the brown orbs to rid herself of the feeling. 

 

“It was as Professor Snape prepared me for, sir. I wasn’t privy to anything useful, but I hope I may have begun to earn their trust. The women’s conversation was very much on the polite and proper spectrum. Nothing of interest was shared, though it may be because I was present, I am not sure.”

 

A moment passed before Hermione saw the nod of the headmaster’s chin from her lowered gaze.

 

“Thank you, my dear. You have done very well,” Albus offered. “I believe that it’s time for you to have a good night’s sleep.”

 

He rose from the desk and walked them to the door. “Do let me know, Severus, should any plans change.”

 

The dark-haired man gave a single nod, and then the pair turned to leave, feeling Dumbledore’s eyes on them every step of the way until they hit a staircase and drifted out of sight.

 

***

w

Hermione opened the door and held it for Severus, who entered without a word, and pulled her into a tight hug. 

 

“You did so well,” he murmured. 

 

She half-laughed and half-sobbed into his chest. “You know I never aim for an Acceptable,” she joked, but her words were thick, and he held her tighter as she began to shake. 

 

“I think, Hermione, in this instance you warrant an Outstanding.”

 

“That’ll be a first.”

 

“I thought you were used to Outstanding?” he teased.

 

“Not from you, you miserable git!”

 

She pulled back, and he relaxed his grip to allow her a step back. She wiped the tears from her eyes with a dry chuckle. “I’m just so fucking relieved.”

 

“You and me both, love.”

 

By mutual agreement they slumped onto her sofa, relaxing into each other as Severus wordlessly lit the fire. 

 

“Spiffy!” Hermione called, and the small elf popped into existence. 

 

“Tea, coming right up, Missy Hermione!”

 

“Make that something stronger,” Severus interjected. “The night we’ve had, it certainly requires firewhisky.”

 

The elf nodded, as if this were a perfectly normal request, and then vanished to return a moment later, placing a tray on the table and smiling widely at the thanks bestowed before disappearing once more. Severus poured two generous measures of firewhisky and raised his in a toast. 

 

“To a rather successful evening.”

 

“To not becoming snake food,” Hermione retorted, her lips twitching into a smile. Her eyes were still puffy, her cheeks pale, and the occasional teardrop dripped onto her chin, but her smile was bright, and she felt elated as Severus smiled in return.

 

They both took a sip.

 

“Would you like to talk now?” Severus asked with uncertainty. “This can keep until morning, if you just want to rest. I should have asked before coming in-”

 

“Nonsense. These chambers are practically yours as much as mine.”

 

Snape smirked as he took another sip. “Does this mean I get the bed tonight?”

 

“Fat chance!”

 

“It was worth a shot.”

 

“If you want it, you’ll have to pull me by my feet. It’s far comfier than my bed in Gryffindor tower.”

 

His eyes darkened at that, but Severus said nothing. They sat in silence until their glasses were empty, and then the dark-haired gentleman lifted the bottle to her with a quirk of his eyebrow. 

 

She nodded, and accepted a refill. She then grabbed the generous plate of biscuits and balanced them on her knee, grabbing a bourbon cream.

 

“Well then, witch, out with it.”

 

“Out with what?”

 

“The ridiculous number of questions that are whirring around your brain.”

 

Hermione frowned and finished her biscuit. For the first time that evening, her mind was blissfully empty. Simply calm, relaxed in the comfort of her companion. 

 

“What exactly is the philosophy of the Death Eaters? They don’t seem anywhere near as, well, you know…”

 

“As awful as Dumbledore would have you believe?” he finished for her.

 

“Yes. I mean, I know that they’re people, but they’re just so  _ normal _ . And they accepted my presence quite gracefully.”

 

Severus Snape nodded. “They are, as the light would like to forget, only human. Tom Riddle, as he used to be known, was always incredibly charismatic. I suppose, you could assume that the Death Eaters began as any other cult; a group of people drawn together by similar life experiences and belief systems. The growth of a cult into a more dangerous formation only comes with the leader’s greed for power, and essentially peer pressure. Think of the etymology of the word ‘cult’. Both ‘cult’ and ‘culture’ stem from the latin word ‘colere’, meaning to care, tend, or ‘cultivate’. These relate to growth, and prosperity. Generally, culture and cultivation are in some way related to bettering oneself, one’s skills, one’s society, or in the basic form, growing crops and providing for the community. Would you consider culture to have a negative meaning?”

 

Hermione bit her lip as she mused. “No, I guess. I suppose ‘culture’ or ‘being cultured’ makes me think of being well-read, having an appreciation for arts and music, for widening experiences… but then you can also look at other uses, like ‘rape culture’ or ‘gang culture’. I suppose all of it relates to a specific, deeply ingrained belief system.”

 

“Exactly. The Death Eaters all believe what they are taught to believe, and I am not ruthless enough to believe that every single one should be treated as animals because of it. I will give Albus names that help him, by telling him of extremists who are a danger to us and to others, but I will not hand over innocents, simply because of what they were taught to believe. The Order of the Phoenix, and the Light in general are indiscriminate in their treatment of the opposing side, but honestly, they cause as much bloodshed as the Death Eaters, albeit more quietly, and with a sense of superiority. Some days, I’m not sure what is more dangerous.”

 

“Both sides will happily eliminate the other for their beliefs, and their side of the story. Neither will believe in re-education…”

 

Severus shook his head. “Some do. And as such, I will happily leave any passive believers out of it. The Dark Lord acts against those that he sees as a threat. Those who directly oppose him. Albus Dumbledore will act against anyone who is on the other side. You’d likely never heard of the women that you met this evening. They are more pacifist, more demure in their beliefs, and I don’t believe that they should be tortured or murdered for that.”

 

Hermione nodded. “I will be careful. I wouldn’t like to undo your hard work by making a slip in front of the headmaster.”

 

Snape reached out one hand, his long finger pushing a stray curl away from her face. “Thank you. I must say, you are taking this much better than I expected.”

 

“I’ve already been shown that the so called light aren’t always the martyrs and freedom fighters that I’ve been led to believe. Albus Dumbledore has shown me that himself.”

 

“And of Potter?”

 

Hermione hunched her shoulders in to protect herself, taking a large gulp of her whisky. “I don’t know… I don’t understand. He was having a vision, of the Dark Lord, and his form of… entertainment,” she spat the word, her face twisting into a pained snarl. “How do I know that was truly a vision, and not just Harry?”

 

“It likely was a vision,” her friend replied smoothly. “Atrocities are committed on both sides, regardless of how refined people may seem in polite company.”

 

Hermione didn’t feel entirely reassured, but when Severus lifted the plate from her knee, she snuggled close and pressed a kiss to his chest. 

 

“Right now, I feel like you are the only one I can trust, Severus.”

 

She felt him stiffen, but a gentle kiss was placed on the top of her head.

 

“And I, you.”

 

Together, they drifted off to sleep, only waking up to lengthen and widen the sofa to continue cuddling laying down. They both needed the comfort.

 

***

 

The next day, Severus had left before Hermione awoke, and she felt both grateful and oddly… empty as seeing the vacant side of their makeshift bed. She was relieved not to face him after their strangely intimate sleeping arrangement. 

 

The only remaining sign of his presence was a small vial of calming draught on the table, complete with a small label tied to the stopper saying ‘drink me’.

 

_ Like Alice. Fallen down the rabbit hole. _

 

Hermione smiled, and sniffed the potion carefully before consuming it. The writing was certainly Severus’, but there was never any harm in being cautious. Feeling buoyed by the refreshing sleep and the success of survival, she returned the sofa to its original state and headed to her desk. Her notes were still neatly piled, and a bookmark sat in each of her current texts. Very quickly, a quill found its way into her mouth, and the books fell open for continual reference. The soul… they key was the soul. Why would that specifically mean dark magic?

 

As if a lightbulb had lit up in her head, Hermione flipped through her texts, easily finding and translating a passage on Soul magic from her ancient text, copying it down and considering the different connotations.

 

_ The soul has long been considered a fluid thing, through the virtues of reincarnation and soul mates primarily… _

 

Soul mates? In the muggle world, considered a myth, but in the magical world… Hermione slammed her books shut and headed to the library, grabbing hold of any text that might be of use to her. The pile towered above her, and Hermione grabbed the texts one at a time, skimming through to find the passages most suited to her needs. 

 

  * Soulmates
  * Soul bonds
  * Twin souls
  * The higher self
  * Soul families 
  * Life debts and Wizard’s oaths
  * Marriage



 

She was jotting down her notes when a flash of platinum hair entered her vision. Draco took a seat beside her, and Hermione turned to him with a scowl. 

 

“I’m busy here, Draco.”

 

He snickered. “Never thought you to be the romantic type.”

 

“I’m not,” she replied haughtily. “This is simply research.”

 

To her surprise, he simply nodded his head and reached for an open text. “While these are definitely…  _ interesting _ , how about our joint research?”

 

The brunette sighed. “We’ll need to gather ingredients before making any further progress,” she told him. “There’s no sense in drawing together further theories until we’ve crossed out some of our existing ones.”

 

Draco tapped his fingers together on the desk. “We need to test different ingredients as substitutes, and we need to see if different moon cycles affect the new ingredients that we are inputting.”

 

“It may be possible that if some of the ingredients are harvested under the full moon, the potion may not require exposure to it, and could mature faster,” Hermione added. “Which is useful if the brewing happens to fall upon a full moon that lacks clarity. At least then the batch wouldn’t be compromised.”

 

“So,” Draco decided. “If you could gather ingredients during the day, and note down the date, moon cycle, time of day, then I can gather the same ingredients on the full moon, and we can brew the cauldrons in tandem.”

 

“Alright. We will need to repeat the experiment, possible harvesting the daytime ingredients at different points in the month. But for now, we can see if the theory holds any value.”

 

“Wonderful. Thank you for being so agreeable, Granger.”

 

Hermione smiled. “You’re welcome, Draco.”

 

He sauntered off without so much as another word, and Hermione put away her notes with a single thought:  _ Can a human being truly be a horcrux? _

 

***

 

Hermione had just finished harvesting a sizable amount of knotgrass when she spotted a familiar redhead ambling through the grounds, looking much older and more worn than Hermione had ever seen him. His dress was impeccable (all black, with a brown trenchcoat), and while his hair had grown longer, it no longer had the lank look of his earlier schooldays. 

 

“Ron!” Hermione cried, running to catch up with him. She flung her arms around him in a tight hug, and felt a strange sorrow pass over her at the restrained, quieter laugh of her friend. Gone was the schoolboy chuckling and giggles. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Here to meet with Dumbledore, y’know? How are you doing?”

 

Hermione beamed. “I’m well, thank you Ron. Did he give you a new task then? I tried sending you an owl, but it couldn’t find you.”

 

He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve been laying low for a little while. How about we have a coffee once I’ve spoken to Albus?”

 

_ Albus. _ The name made her pause, but Hermione continued smiling. “Of course. That would be lovely, Ron. Do you remember where my chambers are?”

 

“I’ll meet you there after? Unless you need to do something else first?”

 

Hermione shook her head. “No, no, straight away is fine. I’ll just take these ingredients to the potions lab, and then I’ll be straight up and sort out a cuppa.” She gave him another another tight squeeze before letting him go. “It really is good to see you, Ron. I’ve missed you.”

 

Ron smiled sadly, but he did not reply. His back was straight and his strides measured as he walked up to the castle. To Hermione, he looked like a soldier, and this filled her with sorrow.

  
  



End file.
